


Here There Be Pirates

by salamadersaurus_rex



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: AU, F/F, Pirate AU, blood tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamadersaurus_rex/pseuds/salamadersaurus_rex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura recognised the woman. Her likeness hung in charcoal and parchment all over Port Royal, boasting an impressive bounty and the moniker "Captain Karnstein of the Mircalla. Black Panther, Scourge of the Carribbean, General pain in the King’s backside. Wanted for (amongst other things) Piracy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Admiral Hollis!”

A young soldier came barging into the study, his powdered wig askew and a letter in his trembling hands. The Admiral placed his cup of tea delicately onto its saucer with a weak clink, and steepled his hands under his chin.

“I trust this is urgent, Kirsch. You know I like to take my morning tea alone.”

“I - it’s urgent, sir.”

He held out the letter, the stiff parchment rattling in his shaking grasp. The Admiral took it, cracking the seal.

The young soldier watched as he read, surreptitiously backing away as the Admiral’s face grew pale and his lips tightened to a white line. Finally, he folded the letter neatly, meeting Kirsch’s eyes with a look that made him feel like if the plush carpet swallowed him up it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“I want my ship fully provisioned and ready to leave the harbour before noon. Rouse the garrison, I want as many trained men as possible on board.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Kirsch?”

“Yes sir?”

“Fetch me my sword.”

* * *

Laura had grown up with the sound of the sea. She’d been only four years old when her father was promoted to an Admiral of the King’s navy and stationed at Port Royal, so she knew the difference between the pounding of breakers on the beach, and the hush of waves against a hull.

She remembered sneaking out to meet Danny at the Rusty Lustig, a run-down alehouse by the docks, but beyond donning her plainest, least expensive dress and falling from the top of the garden wall, her memory was blank.

She could feel the bite of ropes around her wrists, and an experimental tug told her they were tied well. Her head hurt, her throat was dry, and her chest felt uncomfortably tight. She cracked open an eyelid and shut it immediately, the too-bright noonday sun reflecting off the ocean and through her eyeballs like a skewer.

“Someone fetch the captain,” a voice near her grunted. “She’s awake.”

Footsteps hurried away from her across the deck, and Laura risked a peek through her lashes at her surroundings.

She was tied with her back to the mainmast of a two masted brig, well-crewed with sailors who had seen too much of the sun bustling purposefully over the deck. She’d clearly just left port in a hurry, and if Laura craned her neck to look over her shoulder – yes. There was Port Royal, fading into the distance.

She tipped her head back against the mast and shut her eyes, a groan forcing its way from her dry throat.

“Something wrong, sweetie?”

A voice, low and amused, forced her eyes open. In front of her (well, above her) stood a young woman in a four-cornered hat and a smirk. Her dark curls framed her pale face and hung softly over her shoulders, the same colour as the heavy coat she wore, which hung down almost to the tops of her leather boots.

Laura recognised the woman. Her likeness hung in charcoal and parchment all over Port Royal, boasting an impressive bounty and the moniker _Captain Karnstein of the Mircalla. Black Panther, Scourge of the Carribbean, General pain in the King’s backside. Wanted for (amongst other things) Piracy._

The artist had failed to capture her beauty, but he’d gotten the smirk and the raised eyebrow almost exactly right.

“Nothing’s wrong, Captain. Just enjoying the sun,” Laura said, leaning back against the mast.

“Good for you,” Karnstein smirked, crouching down so as to be on Laura’s level. She wore two ornate cutlasses in her belt, their points scraping across the deck as she leaned forwards. “Although you should be careful, it’s going to get quite hot up here come noon. And that bodice isn’t going to help.”

Laura had forgotten about the bodice, the one piece of her attire that would have marked her out as a girl having a good time with a tall, red headed member of the King’s navy. Suddenly it felt tight.

“Maybe we can work something out,” Laura said.

“That’s my girl.”

There was a faint shout from high up in the rigging. Laura couldn’t hear every word but it sounded a lot like a sail had been spotted on the horizon. Karnstein stood up, pulling a spyglass from her pocket.

“Perry, take her to my cabin. I’ll be along in a minute.”

* * *

The Captain’s cabin was small and dark, and lined wall to wall with books. Crimson curtains were draped heavily over the windows, the only light coming from candles in a few glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The shadows they cast swayed gently with the motion of the ship, making it hard for Laura read the titles on the spines of the books.

“My favourites concern philosophy.”

Laura jumped. The Captain walked silently, her voice coming from just behind Laura’s ear. “I’d be happy to lend you anything you’d like to borrow.”

Her voice was rough from shouting orders in storms, strong rum and not enough sleep. Laura shivered as she felt the pirate captain lean closer to her, brushing a finger over the leather-bound books in front of her.

Laura gulped, trying to slow the rapid beat of her heart. She walked over to the table in the middle of the cabin, littered with charts, and brass instruments, a half-finished book. “Why am I here, and what can I do to get you to take me home?”

Karnstein leaned against the bookshelf and watched her, arms folded. “You get right to it. I like that.” She cleared her throat. “You’re here because your daddy is someone with deep pockets and a deeper affection for his darling daughter. Also because you fell off a wall and onto my leech’s head.”

“Your what now?”

“My surgeon.”

“Oh. Are they alright?”

“They’re fine. Perry recognised you and LaFontaine thought it would be a wonderful idea to drag you back here and _ransom_ you.”

“Something tells me that’s not what you wanted?”

“No,” Karnstein sighed, running her hand through her hair. Laura wondered where she’d put her hat. “I am blessed with foresight, LaFontaine is not. Whilst your ransom could keep my crew in liquor and warm bodies for a month, it also comes with the price of a very angry, very powerful Admiral. Still, I sent him a letter detailing your capture and hope he has the sense not to blow my ship to smithereens with you still on it.”

The door slammed open behind them, and a woman with wild, curly red hair and a very concerned expression rushed in.

“Captain? Um, you were right. That ship is Admiral Hollis’. And she’s gaining on us.”

“Wonderful,” Karnstein muttered, fingering the hilts of her cutlasses. She turned on her heel to stride out of the door, but stopped when Laura made to follow her.

“Where do you think you’re going, cutie?”

“With you. I want to know what’s going on.”

Karnstein shook her head. “No. You’re staying right here. Perry, make sure she doesn’t leave this cabin.”

“Aye, Captain.”

* * *

It took several hours for Admiral Hollis to draw alongside the _Mircalla_ , but long before that Laura could feel the ship slowing. She had a feeling Karnstein could have drawn the chase out much longer, but she’d come back to the cabin to check on her prisoner enough times for Laura to draw her strategy out of her.

She felt the ship shudder about and heard Karnstein bellowing orders from the helm. Moments later the Captain shouldered her way into her cabin, grabbing Laura’s upper arm and dragging her out on deck.

“Hey, you’re hurting me!”

The pirate’s grip loosened. “Sorry,” she muttered under her breath.

Her father’s ship, much larger than the _Mircalla_ , lay broadside to broadside with Karnstein’s ship in the water, starlight twinkling through the rigging and off the drawn steel of the soldiers crowding her deck.

She saw her father, steely-eyed and straight-backed.

“Captain Karnstein.” His voice echoed in the silence.

“Admiral Hollis,” Karnstein replied.

“You have something of mine.”

“That I do. Pretty little thing. Worth a lot of money, I hear.”

He narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve harmed her-“

“I’ve been on my best behaviour,” Karnstein cut him off. “And so has she.”

Someone in her assembled crew sniggered.

“I received your letter,” the Admiral waved a piece of parchment, translucent in the moonlight.

“Do you agree to my terms?”

“I do.” He waved his hand, and two soldiers set a heavy sea chest in front of him. He lifted the lid, and Laura could see a _lot_ of money inside it. “Give me back my daughter and I have two more chests like this.”

“Good,” Karnstein purred, and Laura had to shake off the feeling the noise sent scuttling down her spine.

She was pushed forwards, Karnstein’s hand on her arm gentle but firm, and now she was at the rail, a boarding plank between her and her father, who still had that odd steely glint in his eye. Then his hands were coming out from behind his back and Laura saw the pistol with his finger on the trigger.

And she didn’t know _why,_ but all of a sudden she couldn’t hear the clamour of pirates behind her. Couldn’t see anything but the puff of smoke and the dark spatter of blood on her white dress. Couldn’t _feel_ anything but the slump of Karnstein’s body against her own and the numbness sliding up her spine and out of her throat in a raw scream.

“No, Father NO!”

“Captain!” Someone yelled behind her.

“Laura!” Her father hollered, holding out his hand. “Come aboard, we have to get you to safety!”

Laura was shaking her head, dropping to her knees in front of Karnstein and crushing her hands over the bullet wound in the side of her chest.

She knew her father was ruthless when it came to pirates, had seen the nooses swinging softly in the wind, watched ships burning in the night leaving the greasy stain of smoke on the horizon in the morning. But she’d never seen him raise a hand against another human being.

“Laura!”

“All hands! Get us out of here!” Perry hollered at the crew, who set about loosening the sails, canvas billowing in the wind, catching and forcing them through the swell. Yards of both ships cracked against each other as the _Mircalla_ took flight, leaving the Admiral screaming his daughter’s name in her wake.

* * *

 Carmilla woke in semi-darkness, sunlight beating through her red curtains to stain her vision crimson. Her chest hurt, and she grunted in pain as she tried to get up.

“Hey, no, you have to lie down.” Soft hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t think I could’ve gotten up anyway, sweetheart.” Carmilla sank back down onto the pillows, turning her head to the side to watch Admiral Hollis’ daughter through her lashes.

“I distinctly remember getting shot.”

“Yeah. In the chest. By my father.”

Carmilla tried to meet her gaze but she looked away.

“Seems he wanted to get me back _and_ keep his money,” she continued.

“Doesn’t look like he succeeded.”

“No.”

Carmilla reached out and took the girl’s hand, rubbing a calloused thumb over her soft palm. “You’ve only ever seen him be your father. Not a killer.”

“I didn’t think he had it in him,” Laura sniffed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “He just _shot_ you, without even flinching.”

“People have tried that before,” Carmilla said, drawing a small smile out of Laura. “Never kept me down yet.”

“I’m glad.” The girl murmured.

“Me too.”

Laura laughed, and wiped at her eyes with the puffy sleeve of her dress.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and LaFontaine strode in, their shirt still covered in Carmilla’s blood.

“Good, you’re awake.”

“And ready to know what’s happening out there.”

“Perry has the deck. Admiral Hollis turned tail back to Port Royal when he realised how much of a head start we have.”

“He left his daughter?”

“He commands an entire fleet of warships. I assume he went back to get them.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed. What’s the plan?”

“Get as far away from Port Royal as we can and hope he gives up?”

“Unlikely to happen, but it’s a start. Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“I need to change your bandages.”

“Oh, right.”

Carmilla shrugged stiffly out of her shirt, smirking when she caught Laura looking out of the corner of her eye.

“See something you like, creampuff?”

Laura blushed a deep pink.

“No…just, uh, want to know what a gunshot wound looks like.”

“Very messy,” LaFontaine grunted, wrapping clean bandages around Carmilla’s chest.

“All done.”

“Thank you.”

“Just try not to get shot again anytime soon.”

“I’ll try.”

The door shut softly behind the surgeon, and the cabin was quiet for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Carmilla asked.

“Yeah. Just…not over _everything_ yet.”

“It’ll take a while. Being betrayed by someone you love…” Carmilla looked at the ceiling, and Laura didn’t feel like pushing.

She stood up abruptly.

“Hey, where are you-?”

“What’s your favourite book?”

“On the desk.”

Carmilla smiled, watching the girl pick up the book and come back to sit next to her.

She read the inscription silently. Carmilla knew it by heart.

_My dearest Carmilla. A gift from my heart, to my heart._  
All my love.  
-Ell.

Your name’s Carmilla?”

"I prefer it to _Scourge of the Carribbean.”_

She peered at the girl in the light of the lanterns swaying about their heads.

“Are you going to read to me, Laura?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like that.”


	2. Chapter 1

It was still dark when Perry nudged the cabin door open, holding her lantern up higher to see the Hollis girl asleep in her chair, snoring gently. Her limbs were spread as far out as she could reach, arms dangling loosely to the floor where a battered book rested on bent pages.

Carmilla had awkwardly propped herself up on her pillows when her quartermaster walked in, her eyes half open and shining black in the soft glow of the lantern.

“Captain-”

“Quiet. You’ll wake her.”

“Land sighted off the starboard bow.” Perry murmured, watching Carmilla scrub sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I know. Le Fanu squawked so loudly from the nest he woke me up.” She yawned. “How long until we reach the island?”

“A few hours at most. The wind isn’t with us but we’re making headway.”

“Good. Make for Ferret Bay. We’ll wait until the sun rises before we take her in.”

“Aye, Captain.”

She turned and made for the door, but Carmilla called her back.

“Is LaFontaine awake?”

“No. They spent four hours pulling shrapnel out of your chest. I gave them the rest of the journey to sleep the experience off.”

“I was that bad, huh?” Carmilla offered her a soft smile, regret shadowing her voice.

Perry huffed a sigh and shook her head.

“Not as bad as usual. You’d already lost enough blood, so it wasn’t as hard to keep you down. No broken bones this time.”

“Good.”

“You’ll have to go hunting once we reach Île-à-Vache though. We emptied the last keg keeping you alive.”

“Damn,” Carmilla muttered. “I hadn’t realised we were short.”

“We would have been fine if you hadn’t gotten yourself shot.” Perry raised an eyebrow and folded her arms.

Carmilla chuckled, closing her eyes and leaning back against the pillows. “You’re lucky we’re such good friends, quartermaster. I wouldn’t tolerate that kind of insubordination from any other member of my crew.”

Perry’s lips thinned. “You were shot yesterday Captain. Even you can’t heal that quickly.”

“Fine. My chest hurts and I’m sleepy, so I won’t string you from the yardarm and flog you for pointing out my eagerness to put myself in danger for money. Now get back to your duties and leave me to worry about my food supply.”

“Yes, Captain.”

* * *

Laura woke an hour later to the sound of Carmilla falling out of bed.

“Goddamnit.”

“Carmilla!”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” The pirate pushed her hands away and pulled herself up, grimacing in pain.

“I hate getting shot. It makes doing simple things _difficult._ ”

“Do you… do you need any help?”

“No,” the pirate grumbled, padding to old sea chest in the corner and opening the lid with unnecessary force. She tugged her shirt over her head, wincing when the movement pulled at the edges of her still-fresh wound.

Carmilla heard Laura gasp quietly behind her, the scuff of her heel against the deck as she turned her back on the pirate undressing in front of her.

“Something wrong, cutie?” she smirked, sorting through her shirts for something almost clean as the girl stuttered behind her.

“Nothing, I – oh! I dropped your book on the floor, Carmilla I’m sorry.” She bent down and picked it up, gently smoothing out the creased pages.

Carmilla used Laura’s distraction to check under her bandages. The wound was healing nicely. One good feed would leave just a faint scar to join the other lines mapped across her body.

* * *

The _Mircalla_ floated at anchor a mile off the shore of an island, her bow pointed towards a deserted bay. Stony hills rolled gently up from the slope of a white, sandy beach, dotted with palms and the verdant shadows of valleys.

Sunlight glanced off the still water of the bay, sparkling patterns off the waves into Laura’s eyes. Squinting, she followed Carmilla to the bridge, hanging back as Perry handed the captain a spyglass and pointed over the stern rail.

“I’ve seen nothing since the sun rose.”

Carmilla put the glass to her eye anyway, scanning the horizon with an ever deepening frown. “He can’t be too far behind us. I’m worried we’ll get past the reefs and look up to see a fleet bearing down on us.”

She slammed the glass shut and gave it to Perry, striding over to where Laura leaned against the bulwark.

“Morgan would have been before your father’s time, but this is still a pretty popular location. I’m not sure how privy you were to his pirate hunting, I doubt you were allowed to sit in on anything important - but did he ever even mention Île-à-Vache?”

Laura shrugged. “You’re right, I didn’t hear much in the way of his job,” she folded her arms and eyed Carmilla. “But he knew what he was doing. And if you’re asking if he knew about Henry Morgan, the answer is yes. That means he knows about Île-à-Vache as a pirate haunt.”

Carmilla sighed. “Then I’m leaving the _Mircalla_ where we can make a quick getaway. I can’t risk Admiral Hollis finding us in a vulnerable position, but we need supplies we didn’t load at Port Royal.” She shot a glance at LaFontaine, who emerged blinking in the bright sunlight from below decks, running a hand through their messy hair.

“We’ll take the boats and enough crew to find and bring back supplies. We won’t stay more than a day. Speildorf!”

“Aye, Captain?”

“Take us close enough to the shore that we’re not rowing until our arms fall off, but make sure we can turn tail at a moment’s notice.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The helmsman, a tall, blonde woman Laura hadn’t seen before took the wheel. Carmilla began shouting orders and sailors scuttled up the rigging, sail flapping loosely in the wind as lines were tightened, and with a shudder the ship started nosing her way through the waves towards the island.

* * *

“Permission to join the shore party, Captain.”

“Denied, Le Fanu.” The boy scowled, scuffing his bare foot across the deck. Carmilla swatted his arm lightly.

“Stop that. You’ll get splinters. I need you to stay here and watch for sails on the horizon. You’re the sharpest pair of eyes we have.”

She took the spyglass from a passing Perry and handed it to him. He smiled, and scampered off to join the morning watch.

“May I join the shore party?” a voice asked.

Carmilla looked up from the ships boat to see Laura, changed out of her dress (and sadly out of that bodice) into something a little more appropriate. Carmilla couldn’t complain: the shorter woman looked good in the loose white shirt and tight breeches Perry had found for her. Her boots seemed a little tight, but finding good sea boots was difficult even at a busy port. She’d had to make do with Le Fanu’s (which didn’t fit him either). The boy barely wore them anyway; he spent so much time up in the rigging.

“You may,” Carmilla said, helping the shorter woman into the boat. They were joined a moment later by four burly seamen and LaFontaine, who was toting a bag of something that clinked delicately when they set it down under the rowing bench. The rest of the space in the small boat was taken up by empty water casks, tools, and some canvas sacks.

“Perry, you have the deck,” Carmilla called as their boat was lowered haltingly towards the ocean rushing against the _Mircalla’_ s hull beneath them.

“Just remember not to stay too long,” the quartermaster replied, watching the four sailors in the little boat fit the oars into the locks and heave, sending it scudding across the waves towards the island.

“And don’t go hunting in the lagoon!” Perry yelled, her words tugged flying and battered by the wind.

Carmilla chuckled, running a finger delicately along a scar on her collarbone.

“I remember what happened last time,” she murmured.

* * *

The four sailors shipped their oars as the boat crunched against the beach, scoring a dark line in the sand. Carmilla leapt out and slung the rope over her shoulder, waiting for the rest of its occupants to exit before tugging the little vessel further up the beach with apparent ease.

Laura pretended to shade he eyes against the sun as she watched the pirate’s muscles move under her pale skin. Carmilla had discarded her shirt in favour of a black waistcoat and breeches, and not much else.

They left the boat above the tideline, with one of the sailors to guard it. Carmilla sent the other three with casks to a freshwater stream in the hills. She tossed a pile of canvas sacks to Laura.

“Take these.”

“Where are we going?”

“You and LaFontaine are going to fill those sacks with edible fruit so my crew doesn’t die of scurvy before your father’s fleet can finish them off.”

Laura frowned. The subject of Admiral Hollis was a touchy one, especially now that she’d had some time to clear her head. But she didn’t address it, because Carmilla was hefting a long, slim knife, admiring the glint of sunlight off its edge before sticking it in her belt.

“And what will you be doing whilst we’re merrily picking fruit?”

“Hunting.”

* * *

Laura followed LaFontaine as they trudged tiredly through the jungle, sticky with sweat and weighed down by the oppressive heat. Laura was cut and bruised from head to toe, stumbling through the undergrowth with the lumpy canvas sack knocking against her legs, its weight dragging her into tree branches she was sure weren’t there before.

LaFontaine had a cut on their forehead and Laura wasn’t entire sure where they’d got it.

“We’re back,” they said, pushing the heavy, leafy fronds of some bush aside to show Laura the sweep of the beach down to the shore.

The light in the jungle had barely changed the few hours they’d been hacking at branches and tripping over tree roots, filtering oddly through the canopy until their eyes grew used to the shadows. Stumbling onto the beach they realised it was late noon. The sun hung low and red in the sky, turning the underbellies of the clouds a deep, greyish scarlet. The ocean was smooth and dark, glassy under the heavy sky.

By the boat, the guard had built a small fire and was roasting something over it on a spit. The others sat watching the smoke curl lazily into the sky, talking quietly.

The two of them made their way down the beach, gladly dropping their sacks into the boat.

“Where’s the captain?” LaFontaine asked, slumping down next to the fire and taking a grateful swig from the flask of rum a sailor offered them.

“Don’t know.” he grunted. “She came back with a couple of rabbits, told us to cook them for dinner then went off that way.” He pointed in the general direction of the end of the beach.

“Right.”

They clambered to their feet and lifted the bag from its place under the bench.

“I know where she’s gone. Give us half an hour. If we’re not back by then, something’s probably gone terribly wrong and we’ve died horribly and painfully.” They nodded at Laura and wandered off into the gathering gloom, bag gently clinking.

“They were joking, right?” Laura asked, and one of the sailors handed her a flask of rum.

“Never can tell with the doctor.”

* * *

Carmilla was bleeding. She smiled, her teeth white in the shadows, licking at the cut with her eyes fixed on her prey.

The big cat eyed her fearfully. It had put up a good fight. Carmilla was glad. She hated hunting wild animals for food, they were too beautiful to have the life sucked out of them by a monster such as herself.

But it was better that than feeding from her crew.

Perry had offered, when she found Carmilla in the same alley in Havana she’d been turned.

And LaFontaine, who’d almost staked Carmilla in her own cabin. They’d waited patiently through the long explanation, asked a number of questions to weigh up their options, then immediately offered. For the advancement of science.

But Carmilla couldn’t trust herself not to kill whilst feeding. She’d learned how, but it had been so long since she’d tasted human blood she was terrified of what might happen should a drop pass her lips.

So she watched the life drain out of the big cat’s eyes, and closed her own on a warm tear trying to make its way down her cheek. Better the poor animal feed the monster than someone she had brought herself to trust.

She heard LaFontaine crashing through the undergrowth as she licked the blood from her hands, watching the clawmarks raked down her arms heal and fade, pink marks that looked like they’d been made by a child.

“Oh good,” LaF said as they tripped over the body of the cat. Carmilla caught them, taking the bag tucked under their arm.

“You didn’t go to the lagoon this time.”

“I decided against it.”

“Probably a good idea.”

Carmilla nodded, bending down to pick up the big cat at her feet.

“Better get started then.”

* * *

Night fell as they finished filling the little glass bottles with blood, easily transferable to the kegs stored in LaFontaine’s cabin.

“Why did you bring her?”

“Bring who?”

“The Hollis girl. She’s lovely and all. Very well read and an excellent fruit picking companion. But she’s onboard involuntarily-“

“May I remind you that’s _your_ fault, doctor.”

“You may. Although I will remind _you_ that the fault actually lies with the concussion caused by her falling on my head, and Perry’s unwillingness to go against my crazy plans.”

“You were saying…?”

“Oh, right.” LaFontaine corked the bottle in their hand, placing it in the bag. “I’m saying, she’s been with us less than two days. She’s a hostage, not a crew member, and her father is Admiral Hollis. Yet instead of throwing her in the brig-“

Carmilla hissed.

“Instead of having someone keep an eye on her and giving her something useful to do, you keep her in your cabin and bring her on a _hunting trip_.”

“I am having someone keep an eye on her,” Carmilla grumbled. “You. And I’m assuming she was useful to you because you’re here and not still bumbling round the jungle like a lost landlubber aboard a Navy frigate.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I’ve forgotten it, what with all the ‘lock Laura up in the brig and feed her to the rats’ crap.”

“Why?”

“Why what.”

The doctor set the last bottle back in the bag. “Captain. Why are you so interested in Laura Hollis?”

“I-“

BOOM

Carmilla blurred to her feet, her eyes wide and red in the sudden bright light staining the patch of sky above them scarlet. Her nostrils flared at the scent of salt and smoke, and gunpowder.

“It’s the signal,” she croaked.

LaFontaine picked up the bag, then handed it to Carmilla.

“You’d better carry this.”

They set off at a dead run towards the beach.

* * *

They sprinted back to the beach, the bag of glass bottles clutched carefully in Carmilla’s arms so as not to break them.

Laura stood in the sand transfixed by the fireworks, trails of light shining in her eyes, dancing shadows over the contours of her face.

Another loud bang, this time a fountain of purple exploding against the night sky, echoing its reflection in the still waters of the bay.

“Get us back to the _Mircalla_!” Carmilla yelled, stowing the bag under the bench and kicking sand over the small fire still spitting sparks against the shadow of the boat. She grabbed the rope and strained against the weight of the boat, hauling it easily down to the dark sea.

They splashed noisily through the wavelets hushing up the beach, white froth sticking to their boots as they leapt into the boat. The four sailors rowing energetically back to where the _Mircalla_ loomed at the entrance to the bay.

“What is it?” Laura asked Carmilla, who was hunched in the prow, her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the lights of her ship.

“A signal,” she muttered, scrubbing at some dark stain on her hands. “Your father’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found my copy of Breverton's Nautical Curiosities, (it was on my bookshelf, I am that disorganised) so if anyone is wondering where all the technical language suddenly came from, that's where.


	3. Chapter 2

The wind picked up suddenly, blowing glass-dark waves across the bay to slam against the little boat shuddering slowly towards the _Mircalla_. Laura gasped as the vessel bucked, cold, black water swamping the prow and swirling thickly around her feet.

LaFontaine hugged their bag tighter to themselves, eyes fixed on the lanterns blinking slowly to life aboard the _Mircalla_. Figures dashed wind-blown across the deck, straining at the capstan as the sounds of rattling chains signalled the slow raising of the anchor from the depths.

Shadows swayed dangerously in the ratlines, gun ports slamming open far below them.

Empty cannons rolled forwards to point at unseen enemies.

Another wave crashed over the bow of the little boat, soaking its occupants, and Laura gasped as the wind knifed through her wet shirt. From her position crouched in the bow Carmilla growled, dashing salt water from her eyes with the back of her hand.

A shout echoed across the water, and they saw Perry at the rail waving frantically, her red hair flying in the wind.

“I see them!”

Lantern-light pooled over the dark water, yellowing the timbers of their boat as it jarred against the _Mircalla_ ’s hull.

“Get this boat aboard or we’re leaving it,” Carmilla growled. A sudden gust pushed the vessel against the _Mircalla_ , and Laura squeaked, gripping the bench beneath her. She watched as Carmilla leapt, hurling herself up towards the ladder too far above her head to reach, even with the momentum of the rocking boat… except her fingers were suddenly clawing at the wood, catching, and she was scrambling easily aboard her ship as if she hadn’t just jumped a nearly impossible distance.

“Captain on deck!” Perry yelled shrilly, following Carmilla as she strode towards the bridge.

Lines slapped against the tops of the waves next to the boat and its company got to work. Sea water spilled down the sides, streaming into the swirling water beneath them as pirates worked the windlass, hauling the boat up.

LaFontaine grabbed Laura’s hand and pushed her towards the ladder as it drew level.

“Get on board.”

The girl tumbled onto the deck, rolling to avoid a sailor cradling a cannon ball in his large hands. LaFontaine helped her up, shoving their bag into Laura’s arms.

“Take this to the captain’s cabin, and _be gentle._ It’s breakable and it’s important.”

“What’s in it?”

The doctor ran a hand through their hair and shook their head. “Nothing. Just, uh, put it somewhere it won’t fall over.”

LaFontaine started to thread their way through the sailors crowding the deck. Laura clutched the bag to her chest and hurried to keep up.

“Where are you going?”

“The stores. We’re not getting out of here without a fight, and I need to be ready to treat the wounded.”

* * *

Carmilla’s cabin was hushed, the howling wind and thundering of running feet dulled by the close quiet. Dangling the bag by its strap, Laura wandered towards the unmade bunk, thinking the pillow would make a good resting place for whatever it held that was so delicate and important.

Something inside the bag clinked as she set it down on the bed. It sounded a lot like glass bottles. Laura played idly with the strap, glancing half a dozen times back at the closed cabin door, waiting for someone to burst in and give her the opportunity to stop.

“I know LaFontaine said you were none of my business,” Laura murmured. “But I’m stuck in here for the foreseeable future. _And_ we might not even make it out alive. You know father, always willing to blow pirates to hell and back without any explanation.”

Laura bit her lip. She was half-ashamed she was talking to a _bag_ , but her curiosity was piqued and she needed some way of sorting through her thought process.

“Screw it,” she muttered, dumping the bag on the desk and undoing the clasp.

It contained maybe twenty little glass bottles, the kind she used to play castaways with as a child.

She’d scrawl little messages in black ink and scraps of parchment for her father, smiling and giggling when he sealed them with red wax and the ring on his finger. She remembered slipping them into an empty glass bottle she’d found in the kitchen, leaving each precious message in her father’s study when he was out.

He’d read them, at night when he had the time, and pretend he hadn’t watched her writing them over her shoulder. Each morning she’d wake up with the bottle on her pillow, a note in his elegant, curling hand playing along with whatever childish fantasy she’d come up with the day before.

Laura shook the memory away, unable to associate the man who’d written her messages in bottles with the man who’d shot Carmilla without flinching.

Each bottle was filled with a thick, red liquid which clung messily to the sides and the cork stoppers. Laura picked one up and held it to the soft glow of the almost burned-out candle. She uncorked one, wrinkling her nose at the odd scent of the liquid inside. It was was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She took a deep breath, furrowing her brow. It smelled awfully like-

“Oh.”

The bottle fell from her nerveless grasp, spilling a streak of crimson against her white shirt as it fell. Laura backed away, swallowing the bile rising in the back of her throat. Darkness spotted the backs of her eyes and she tripped on the something - the edge of the carpet rucked up by Perry’s pacing as LaFontaine stitched up the captain’s bullet wound – and fell against the table.

Glass crunched against her stomach as she twisted away, dragging the bag down on top of her. The sound of shattering glass and the smell of blood soaked her senses.

Laura lay still for a few moments.

Tentatively, she ran a hand up under her shirt and over her stomach, breathing a sigh of relief when her fingertips met nothing but smooth skin. Shards of glass littered the loose folds of her shirt, but the crimson staining the cloth was not her own.

Laura got to her feet, steadying herself against the corner of the table. Outside she could hear yelling, Perry and Carmilla fighting over something, trying to outscream the wind.

She stumbled to the door and tugged it open, stepping out into the middle of a storm.

* * *

Heavy clouds gathered quickly, whirling and shifting with the wind across the silver sliver of the moon. Shadows rushed deep in the troughs of the waves growing bigger with every passing minute.

Carmilla paced up and down the bridge, ignoring the stench of blood drifting from somewhere below decks. Snatching the glass from Perry as she leaned out over the stern rail. Miles out to sea she saw a line of billowing sails stretching from one corner of the horizon to the other, flags flying shades of black under the moonlight from the jackstaffs.

“Le Fanu!” she roared, slamming the spyglass closed with a crunch of brass and glass.

He came running up the steps, his feet pale and bare. “Aye captain?”

“How many do you count?”

“Eleven, captain.” The boy sounded terrified. He wouldn’t meet Carmilla’s gaze, instead staring wide-eyed out across the water.

Carmilla bit down hard on her lip, shaking her head to clear the heady smell of blood from her nostrils. She’d have to send LaFontaine to see who had cut themselves, the scent was too strong to have come from just a splinter.

Distracted, she spat out a growl through the backs of her gritted teeth. “I want every scrap of sail we have piled on. Now.”

“Captain,” Perry said, her hand on Le Fanu’s shoulder gripping comfortingly. “I don’t think that’s wise. The storm-”

Powdered shards of glass fluttered to the deck as Carmilla squeezed the useless spyglass between her fingers. “I am the captain. On this ship my word is law. I have a hundred lives on board, and I intend to save as many as I can so when I tell you pile on every inch of goddamn sail we have, _you do it._ ”

Perry frowned, her lips tightening to a thin white line. She shook her head. “Captain. A black squall is blowing up as we speak, _and_ we have a British naval fleet bearing down on us. If we do as you say the gale will tear our masts off and we’ll be cannon fodder before we’ve even left the bay!”

She gestured angrily at the crew, standing awkwardly watching the two women fight. “We won’t _save_ any of these people. We’ll doom them all!”

The sky chose that moment to open up, icy raindrops slicing windblown against skin and wood and crumpled brass. A blaze of lightning split the clouds apart, burning cracks into the sky, white then black like a heady, irregular blink.

Time stretched interminably in frozen moments: Rain splashing cruelly against the deck. Lantern’s shadowed black by the sun-bright lighting. Perry’s hair, dark and red and a moment away from sticking rainsoaked against her scalp. Eleven ships spread out across the horizon. Laura.

Laura, at the wheel watching her with wide, terrified eyes. Her hands and shirt soaked red with blood.

The screeching growl ripping from Carmilla’s throat was drowned in a heavy rumble of thunder. She bared her teeth at Perry, too sharp and white to be any kind of normal. Her eyes were sunken and black in their sockets, the wind, shrill in the rigging smacking her wet hair against her pale skin.

“Carmilla.” Perry sounded like she was trying to speak from underwater, voice high and trembling and _distracting._

The pirate’s head jerked to the side as over the dull noises of _everything_ she heard Laura gasp, met the girls eyes with the shadows of her own. She bit down hard on her lower lip, dark blood spilling down her chin as she trod lightly over the slick deck towards the hammering of Laura’s heart.

“Carmilla. Stop that. You’re scaring her.”

* * *

 

_(You are a monster, Mircalla. Born to paralyse the world with fear, so you can hunt it down and spill the life from its veins.)_

_(I’m a monster?)_

_(Yes, darling.)_

 

* * *

Carmilla could smell blood. Broken glass, and sweat, and rain, and blood.

“Can you hear me? You need to listen to me, Carmilla.”

She stalked across the deck, insinuating herself into Laura’s personal space, her pupils blown and focused on the throbbing of the girl’s heart under her skin.

Her hand went to the girl’s shirt, bunching the sopping material in her fist.

One hundred voices drowned the wind in sounds of whispering, thrumming through the air and the wood of the ship and the pounding of the sea.

“What’s she doing?”

“Look at her eyes…”

“She’s gone mad.”

Well, madness and monsters went hand in hand.

She took a deep breath and suddenly all she could smell was Laura, fresh and sharp as gunpowder and saltwater.

Thunder rolled and Carmilla felt the hiss leave the back of her throat, but didn’t hear it. Rain tracked tears down Laura’s cheeks as she stood there, shivering and fragile in the wind.

* * *

 

_(They’re as breakable as old bones, and just as useless.)_

_(They’re still human.)_

 

* * *

“Carmilla?”

Laura’s voice was stinging the useless insides of her tearducts. Carmilla felt like she was waking up.

“Laura,” she croaked, backing away.

The girl held out a shaking hand to the pirate. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I’m not sure.” Carmilla took her hand, and Laura slowly drew the pirate into her arms until they were pressed tightly together.

“You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Carmilla registered the sound of running feet across the deck, then Perry was there, hands so strong from a lifetime at sea dragging her away from the girl in her arms. She felt fingertips at her mouth and snapped, glaring at the woman standing over her, mind suddenly clear now she was away from Laura.

“Do you mind?”

“You didn’t…? I thought you were-“

“You thought I was what, quartermaster?”

Perry tapped her finger against her pursed lips and shook her head. “Never mind.”

Her hands still on Carmilla’s shoulders, she spun the pirate around and marched her towards the stern rail. She bent her head to Carmilla’s ear, whispering harshly. “I don’t know what that was or why it affected you so much but you are a _captain_ , Carmilla. You said so yourself, lives are at stake. Pull yourself together and stay away from Laura until we sort this out, or so help me I’m tossing you in the brig with every clove of garlic we have aboard this ship, do you hear me?”

Carmilla just scoffed and shook the woman off, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Where’s Speilsdorf?”

“Here.”

“Take the wheel and get us the hell out of here. Mainsails and fore sails only.”

* * *

Laura watched from the side, odd feelings pooling in the pit of her stomach as she scrubbed absentmindedly at the blood on her shirt. Perry hurried over to her, taking Laura’s hands in hers.

“Are you alright?”

“What? I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You’re probably traumatised and you’re _covered_ in blood. What happened? Let me take you to LaFontaine-“

Laura tugged Perry back and shook her head. “It’s not mine. There was a bag, with bottles and there was blood in the bottles and I… I spilled some.”

She gazed morosely at the churning ocean and Perry chuckled, tucking a strand of Laura’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first person to spill blood on this deck.”

She cupped the girl’s chin in her hands and met her sad gaze. “Laura, you and I and the captain are going to have to have a lengthy chat very soon. There’s a lot you don’t know, about us and most importantly about her. You have… something of an effect on Carmilla.”

Laura tried to ignore the effect the thought of the pirate captain had on her. Perry smoothed her hand over the girl’s head and smiled comfortingly. “Come on. We have eleven warships bearing down on us and a lot of work to do avoiding them. We’ll get you a clean shirt and you can help LaFontaine get their supplies ready.”

* * *

Carmilla stood at the rail and watched her quartermaster lead Laura below decks. She drew her cutlasses and let the rain play over the steel, glistening in the lamplight.

“Alright!” she roared, scowling at the crew with a cold glint in her eye. “We’re about half an hour away from being blown to pieces by the British. There’s no way we can avoid trading fire, we’re smack bang in the middle of a storm, and I am _hungry_ ,” she slammed the point of her cutlasses into the deck, “for blood!”

Her crew cheered and drew their own weapons, the tension of a moment ago all but forgotten. Carmilla was pacing, practised half-madness haunting her eyes as she worked her crew up for battle.

“I won’t lie. They’ve got big ships and bigger guns. But we all know what bigger guns means.” Carmilla waggled her little finger and the sailors burst into shouts of laughter, hooting and yelling crude comments across the stormy waters.

Laura stopped at the ladder to watch the captain, unsure of the feeling still coiled in her belly. Carmilla slammed her cutlasses back into her belt and spread her arms wide. She looked beautiful and manic in the midst of the storm, her head tipped back, laughing at the darkened sky and tasting rain on her lips.

“We’re eleven to one,” the pirate yelled. “I like those odds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: I pretend I don't have a massive project due, and have enormous fun writing sea battles.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for graphic depictions of injuries, brief mention of suicide.

There was a map spread out before him, tattered edges weighted down with thick candles and a heavy crystal glass of wine. Thin firelight danced through red-hued facets over the map, shadows shifting and twisting until the lines of ink over which they played seemed to swim dizzily before his eyes.

The deck creaked and whined with each slow pitch of the ship, her keel shuddering beneath his feet as the helmsman struggled to keep the vessel from broaching. He steepled his fingers under his chin and watched hot rivulets of wax drip unerringly down the candles, pooling and trembling with each heavy wave passing by the ship.

There was a knock at the door and his lieutenant peered inside.

"Admiral. You asked for me?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Come in."

She ducked to avoid hitting her head on the doorframe, straightening until she towered over him. She wore a heavy tarpaulin cape, dark streams of rainwater running down the creases and puddling on his floor. She carried a brass storm lantern in one hand, its stub of candle burning soot and smoke up the sides of the glass. Her red hair was gathered in a ponytail under the hood of her cape.

"I see the weather has taken a turn."

He'd been sailing since he was a boy, working his way through the ranks from runaway powder monkey aboard a navy frigate to Admiral; he’d spent more time treading the tarred timbers of the deck than any grass on dry land. He knew what a following sea and a rising storm felt like.

And what it meant.

"Vice-Admiral Williams signalled from aboard the _Wessex_ , sir. There's a black squall looking to blow up, dead ahead. I’ve conferred with the Boatswain,” (a formality; Lawrence had by all accounts been born at sea, her cradle the crow’s nest and her rattle an octant.) “We have to trim the sails, sir."

And lose precious speed, falling behind the rest of the fleet and giving Karnstein time to escape.   
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he'd swallowed his pride when his daughter told him he needed glasses.

"Signal every ship in the fleet. The _Mircalla_ is not to be sunk, only crippled. If any harm befalls my daughter, every man in this fleet will know my wrath."

She nodded. "And once she’s dead in the water?"

"Board her. If Karnstein still lives I want her in chains, on her knees in front of me. She will pay dearly for her defiance. Do to the rest of the crew what you will.”

"Aye, Admiral."

* * *

LaFontaine busied themself lighting a brazier, lining instruments up on the table and one by one plunging them into the coals. They’d have to do it all again come the time to operate, but they needed something to do with their hands.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Laura asked from her perch in the corner. She was surrounded by strips of cloth, some for bandages but most for soaking up blood.

LaFontaine wrapped their hand around the clouded glass neck of a bottle of rum, half empty from when they'd forced it down Carmilla's throat, splashing it messily on the gaping bullet wound as the captain cried out around the thick belt in her mouth.

“We’ll need some more rum.”

The girl nodded and rolled her sleeves down, ducking her head against the lashing rain trying to make its way through the door. Perry slipped past her as she left, easing her way into the cabin. She left the empty bucket she was carrying by the door, brushing tarred splinters of rope from her hands as she picked her way over to the table.

* * *

"Laura knows," she'd mouthed from behind the girl as LaFontaine directed her towards a seat in the corner.

"How?" they'd whispered as Laura clutched white knuckled and tight lipped to the edge of her seat, watching darkness slip by the scuttle as the _Mircalla_ came about.

"She spilt blood on herself. And Carmilla... I haven't seen the captain like that in a long time." Perry took LaFontaine's small hand in her own, the one Laura couldn't see, and stroked her thumb over the back of it.

"We'll have to talk to her when this is all over."

LaFontaine had nodded.

* * *

Now they took Perry quietly in their arms, burying their face in wet curls that smelled like sea salt and thunderstorms, uncaring that she was dripping water all over their apron.

"What's it like out there?" they murmured.

"There are eleven ships. Mostly frigates and gunboats, from what I can see. Some are against the wind though. We’ll be away before they can even get in range."

"And Hollis' galleon?"

"Yes, but she's ungainly and slow, and this storm is with us. We're downwind: with any luck we can make it out with minimal damage, maybe even outrun Hollis before he even arrives."

"He'll try to cut us off before we round the headland. He’s not stupid."

"Ah," Perry smiled into their neck, and LaFontaine imagined her holding a finger up. "Carmilla has a plan."

She pulled back as the door swept open, and Laura stumbled in clutching two bottles of rum.

“Put them on the table,” LaFontaine directed.

“How are you feeling, Laura?” Perry asked kindly, lining the bottles neatly with LaFontaine’s instruments.

“A little shaken up,” the girl shrugged. “But there’s a bit more to worry about at the moment than what… happened.” She took a deep breath. “So I guess I’ll just ignore everything until we’re out of this mess.”

Perry patted her shoulder sympathetically and met LaFontaine’s gaze.

“I’m really sorry.” Laura said suddenly. Her voice sounded weak and watery.

“What for, sweetie?”

“Not going to my father when I had the chance. Going out to see Danny when I should have stayed at home. Being here and putting you all in danger-“

LaFontaine shrugged guiltily. “Honestly Hollis, if you want to blame anyone, blame me. I’m the one who kidnapped you for ransom in the first place.”

Laura chuckled. “I fell on your head from the top of the wall of the Admiral’s garden, you probably weren’t thinking straight. _And_ you’re a pirate. I suppose, by whatever code you live by, you had every right to take me.”

“The pirate code doesn’t work like that,” LaFontaine chuckled. “But now you mention it, I did have concussion. That may have impaired my judgement _slightly_ \- ouch!” They rubbed at their ribs where Perry had elbowed them.

Laura scuffed the deck with her foot. “I suppose now it doesn’t really matter how I got here. Just that I’ve put everyone on this ship in danger because my father will stop at nothing to get me back.”

“Then that’s who you should blame,” said a voice at the door. Carmilla leaned against the frame, her arms folded across her chest. “Not yourself, not LaFontaine, not _anyone_ aboard this ship or floating on this goddamn ocean. Except your father.”

Except her father, who’d brought her to Port Royal when her mother died in England; who’d sat at her bedside and told her stories of heroes and sea monsters and treasure until she could sleep without nightmares. Her father who was kind and protective, who’d do anything for her.

“Laura.”

“Carmilla, can you signal my father?”

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“If I go to him, I can stop this. I can talk to him, get him to turn around and let you go free.”

Maybe she was being naïve, Laura realised. Maybe her father wasn’t out here for her. She remembered the look in his eyes as he’d watched Carmilla – god, was it only last night? But even thinking of talking to her father, trying to change his mind, was a better idea than waiting for the _Mircalla_ to be blown out of the water.

“No,” Carmilla said. She was scratching at her chest where the gunshot wound had healed into a jagged scar. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? Are you going to keep me from my father because he broke your agreement?”

“He _shot me_ ,” Carmilla growled. “I hate to break it to you cupcake, but this has nothing to do with you. He’s been hunting me for years and your being aboard the _Mircalla_ just gave him the opportunity to get close. I was stupid sending him that letter. Cocky. I should have dumped you on the beach and hightailed it back to Nassau.”

Laura frowned, taking a breath to say something but Carmilla cut her off. “If I signal to your father that you want to go aboard his galleon he’ll think it’s a trick. He’ll let us get close and then he’ll board us. We’ll be thrown in the brig if we’re _lucky,_ and if we’re not… I don’t really feel like hanging from the yardarm tonight, and I’m sure the rest of my crew would agree.”

“No he won’t think it’s a trick,” Laura shot back. “He chased us all the way out here with an entire _fleet_ just to get me back. He’ll-“

“ _Laura_.” Carmilla pushed her fringe out of her eyes, suddenly tired. “I have a way to get us out of here without ending up at the bottom of the bay. I’m not going to risk my ship and my crew on the off chance daddy feels like letting his baby girl dictate which orders from the king he ignores. Perry.”

“Aye, captain?”

“I need you up on deck. LaF if we pull through this there are going to be casualties. Be ready.”

“Carmilla please-“

“Shut up!” Carmilla barked, and Laura backed up against the wall, terrified. The captain’s eyes softened instantly and she looked guilty. She almost reached out to comfort the girl, but a shout from on deck pulled her attention away. She shook her head and strode out of the cabin. Perry hurried after her, pausing to reassure Laura. “She’s just a bit stressed, Laura. I’m sure you’re right about your father.”

“Yeah,” LaFontaine piped up, but even they sounded unsure. They exchanged a look with Perry. “Anyway, uh, if you’ve nothing to do, you can stay here and help me.”

Laura padded out of her corner, her hands bunched into fists. “Okay.”

“Great,” LaFontaine clapped their hands together. “What do you know about amputating limbs?”

* * *

The _Mircalla_ surged through the waves, dark water spilling over her bow and washing blackly across the deck, catching wild flashes of light from the lanterns swinging in the high winds. Pirates stumbled and slid over the deck, soaked hands gripped cables and lines whilst mouths gaped open, trying to out roar the wind.

Sails flapped as the crew worked frantically in the rigging, lightning flashing white off their eyes as they fought with knots and ropes, straining to keep their balance. The gunner rushed past with his little crew, a crate of cannon balls rattling wildly in his arms. Carmilla grabbed him and spun him around. His cape flapped raggedly in her face with the wind.

“Let’s give them something to panic about. What can you do about heating those up?” She pointed at the cannon balls.

“It’ll take time, captain,” he said. “But I have everything I need.”

“Good,” Carmilla smiled, her eyes dark with something that made the gunner wish he’d filled his little hip flask with rum. She strode past him, leaving him sweating despite the storm, and made her way steadily to the bridge.

Spielsdorf was battling with the wheel, dashing rain water from her narrowed eyes as she squinted through the chaos of heaving seas and unsteady bodies.

“Captain!” she called over the wind. “If this storm picks up much more I’m not going to be able to hold her steady!”

Carmilla waved Sarah Jane over. She and another of the gunner’s crew were lugging a crate of bar-shot to the starboard cannons, but at Carmilla’s signal she jogged over to the bridge. “Help Spielsdorf keep us on course if you want to live.”

“Aye captain. But what about the guns?”

“I’ll have someone join the crew in your place. Where’s Le Fanu?”

The boy hurtled past as a heavy wave smashed against the bow, tilting the _Mircalla_ at a steep angle that left sailors scrabbling for handholds. Carmilla grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, holding the squirming boy until the ship righted herself, her hull smacking back down against the water with a loud _crack_.

“Le Fanu I need you in the eyes shouting out directions.”

“Where are we headed, captain?”

“Out of the bay and east, boy. If you see a big galleon point us _away_. Got it?”

He nodded and scampered off. “And watch you don’t get swept overboard,” Carmilla hollered after him.

Perry sighed and grabbed a coiled rope, bustling after him. “I’ll make sure he’s secure.”

* * *

Carmilla prowled the lines of guns on the deck, barrels slick with rain and salt water shining in the lantern light spilling in pools across the deck. From the eyes Le Fanu’s thin, high voice reached her ears.

“Four frigates, dead ahead!”

A quarter gunner and two midshipmen hurtled past her carrying cartridges and a crate of round shot, skidding to a halt by the bow chase cannons. She heard rather than saw the cartridges loaded, the quarter gunner’s shout of “home!” drowned in the sounds of waves spitting angrily against the bow. She strode past the chasers and leapt onto the bowsprit, clinging tightly as it bucked wildly beneath her, edging her way out over the figurehead. She could see the just visible hulks of four ships approaching them unsteadily through the storm.

Behind her, cannon balls rolled like thunder down the barrels, rammed home frantically as with a trundle of wheels the guns were run out, thudding to a stop against the bulwark. The _Mircalla_ leapt eagerly through the waves and Carmilla began to shout directions, ropes creaking against the gun tackles until the barrels pointed at the shadow of the foremost frigate.

“Fire!” She roared, and two cannon balls ripped out of the chasers with a deafening _crack._ They screamed out over the dark water trailing grey-white smoke behind them and even human ears could hear the splintering snap of wood as the two shots hit home. Carmilla saw a gaping hole appear in the frigate’s bow just below a gunport, saw the jackstaff snap and send its flag flapping raggedly out over the bay, like some ungainly bird. Those nearby cheered.

“We’ve nicked her!” She cried, and as the _Mircalla_ drew closer she could see panicked figures rushing below decks with pumps and buckets. She felt the rain slacking and a sudden gust of wind pressed coldly against her cheek. The two women at the wheel struggled to hold it steady as the gust rocked the ship violently.

Carmilla watched as the frigate’s flapping sails caught the wind and she groaned sideways, displaying her whole length. The pirate threw herself backwards and sprinted towards the bridge, yelling “hard a-starboard, she’s wide open for a broadside!”

Sailors dashed across the deck to man the larboard guns, and for a few long moments every action hung in chaos. Lightning split the dark clouds and saw eight black guns being loaded. Seawater rushed in through the gunwhales, soaking shaking hands and feet; a lonely cry of “shot your guns!” shivering in the stormy air before the heavy grumble of cannon balls rammed home. A clap of thunder split the sky apart and eight cannons fired a broadside almost in unison, heavy iron whistling through the air and ripping holes in the foundering frigate, splintering her masts and rigging, sending bits of rope and wood and metal whirling to all corners like snowflakes in a storm.

Huge waves swamped the ship, dragging her down to the sea floor as shadows threw themselves from the rigging and the deck, screaming and crying and gurgling in the darkness.

The _Mircalla’s_ sails once again caught the prevailing wind and she shuddered wildly through the waves. From the corner of her eye Carmilla saw another frigate hurtling towards them, and she pushed her way through the sailors crowded cheering at the rails to the gunner.

From the eyes Le Fanu called “Another ship to larboard, headed straight for us!” He sounded terrified, but his voice also trembled with excitement and Carmilla was hit by the memory of her first real fight. They’d raided a fishing fleet and she’d badly scarred her shoulder; it was the first time she’d felt the burning in the pit of her stomach that made her fists clench and her eyes shine bright with battle lust, and she knew she’d do anything to keep that feeling running up and down her spine.

“I need those fireballs now,” Carmilla spat, and the gunner nodded.

“I’ve been heating round shot on a brazier captain. It’s ready.”

“Then load it. We’re dead in that frigate’s path and if she’s got chase cannons we’re well in range. I want her rigging up in flames. Burn her sails as black as our flag.”

“Aye captain.”

Carmilla turned to her assembled crew. “I think it’s time to raise the colours, don’t you?”

They raised their fists and screamed “aye!” in unison and as the burning round shot was carefully loaded a black flag was run up by eager hands, flapping proudly in the high wind. With a roar the starboard cannons fired again, hissing shot red-hot across the waves and burning holes in billowing sails. Fires sparked in a dozen places and soon the whole vessel was ablaze, spitting greasy smoke into the sky as sparks hissed into a sea stained crimson by the flames.

In the smouldering brightness more ships loomed, fighting the wind as they struggled to reach the much faster _Mircalla_ before she hurried out of the bay. Two gunboats, small and swift, hurried past a lumbering frigate, cutting it up short. Carmilla smirked as it floundered off in the opposite direction; in this storm it would be hard pressed to right its course before the _Mircalla_ slipped free.

The pirate captain strode confidently to the swivel cannon, tying her wild hair up in a ponytail as the wind struggled to whip it into her face. Gritting her teeth, she swung the barrel of the cannon round easily, taking aim and firing at the fast approaching gunboats. Her hands stung and shook with the recoil, and it took her a moment to realise she’d missed. She gaped.

Cannons ran out aboard the two little boats and Hollis’ navy fired their first shots of the battle. A broadside came screaming across the water and Carmilla ducked, shot whizzing over her head and snapping through rigging and ratlines like wet paper. The mainmast shuddered and high above her head screams rang out, reverberating in her ears. Three bodies splashed heavily into the pounding waves, and one crunched into the deck. Carmilla heard his ribs breaking, his high screams choked out with each scrape of bone against bone.

The pirate scrambled to her feet, reaching for the swivel cannon and squinting along its length. She could hear Perry yelling for lines to be thrown overboard but Carmilla knew they were moving too fast, that the waves were too high and it was all too little, too late for the sailors foundering in their wake. The quartermaster raced towards the broken sailor on the deck. His breath was coming in short hitches and gasps. Perry and another sailor picked him up gently, and he cried out again as they carried him below decks.

The _Mircalla_ rolled beneath her, lending her extra height and with the swivel cannon slippery with rain beneath her hands she punched a hole in the bow of the leading gunboat. It veered drunkenly to larboard, scraping along the bow of the ship behind it. A high wave crunched the two boats together and the shock of the collision sent them skipping sideways, one dragging the other down in a tangle of rigging and spars and flailing bodies.

* * *

Below decks Laura pressed her hands over her ears, the roar of the cannons piercing in the quiet of the surgeon’s cabin. For the first time she felt sick, nausea boiling in the pit of her stomach with each pitch of the ship in the storm.

Through the scuttle she could see a ship in flames, men throwing themselves into the surging waters of the bay.

LaFontaine was pacing, worriedly picking at the skin around their thumbnail until it split and bled. A loud _boom_ echoed from outside and the ship shuddered, knocking them both to the floor. A bottle of rum spilled over the edge of the table and Laura tried to catch it but it smashed, spitting alcohol and chunks of glass into the dark corners of the cabin.

“What was that?” Laura choked out, using the edge of the table to pull herself to her feet. She held out a shaking hand to LaFontaine who grabbed it.

“We’ve been hit,” they said, their voice high with fear. They started pacing again, running a hand through their hair and over their instruments. Laura could hear screaming, the heavy thud of a cannon and boots on the stairs, in the narrow gangway. Muffled grunts and shouts grew louder, echoing in the still air.

The door crashed open and Perry and a midshipman Laura didn’t know barged in carrying a limp sailor between them.

LaFontaine cried out with relief when they saw Perry, and the quartermaster nodded breathlessly at them. “I’m still alive. But you need to help JP.”

The injured sailor’s face was grey and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his eyes dark and heavily lidded like he was almost asleep. His breathing was erratic, and the right side of his chest looked odd, misshapen and barely rising and falling.

Laura choked on bile rising in her throat when she saw his leg. It was a mangled mess, shards of bone ripping holes in his flesh below his knee, thick red blood dripping in ugly rivulets to the floor. Perry lifted him easily onto the table and LaFontaine bustled over, prodding gently at his chest.

“What happened?”

“A shot hit the mainmast and knocked him loose. He fell.”

“His ribs are broken. Badly. But I don’t think they’ve pierced a lung.”

They moved down to his leg and hissed, shaking their head. “I can’t save that.”

“But you can save his life?”

“Yes,” they were piling instruments into the brazier, the metal already glowing hot. “Laura, get as much rum down his throat as you can. Laura?”

“I-I don’t know if I can be any help.” The girl was staring at JP’s leg, and she looked _green._ LaFontaine strode over to her and took her by the shoulders, angling her chin until she was looking into their eyes.

“You have to help, Hollis, or JP will die. I’ll show you what to do and you do it, okay? Don’t think, just do.”

Laura swallowed, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Just do.” She nodded.

“I have to get back,” Perry said, watching Laura uncork a bottle of rum with her teeth and start to trickle it down JP’s throat. He spluttered, but didn’t wake up. LaFontaine checked his airway and nodded at Laura to continue. They hurried over to Perry and pressed a swift kiss to the quartermaster’s lips.

“Please stay safe,” they whispered.

* * *

Carmilla could feel the last rain on her lips as she dashed over the slippery deck, seawater sluicing through the open gunwhales to wash around her feet. There was one last ship between her and the open sea. She could taste freedom on her tongue and she grinned. The sinking moon broke suddenly through the receding storm clouds and shone whitely off her teeth. On the horizon she could see Hollis’ galleon, too slow even to cut her off at the mouth of the bay.

He’d chase her until either one of them was dead, she knew.

Perry appeared at her side, her hands still wet with JP’s blood.

“How’s he doing?” Carmilla asked as they watched gun ports slam open on the frigate ahead.

“He’ll lose his leg, but not his life.”

“Good. I like him.”

Perry looked at her. The pirate’s dark hair blew softly around her pale face, and her eyes, gazing ahead, looked young. There was nothing of the bloodlust Perry knew she felt, simmering just below the surface.

“What are you thinking?” Perry asked as they made their way to the wheel. Carmilla took it, holding the vessel steady as they sped away from the storm.

“Hollis is going to be my end. Or I his. But for the first time I’m not looking into the future and seeing eternity.”

Perry frowned. “Carmilla…”

“Oh don’t worry,” Carmilla said. She was watching the frigate ahead, bustling with activity as the _Mircalla_ drew nearer. “I’m not looking to die. I have a proper fight on my hands, at last. I’m going to make as much of this mistake as I can.” She cocked her head at the sounds of cannons being readied echoing across the water. “It’s just nice to know I still have some kind of mortality left. It makes me feel more human.”

* * *

Aboard the frigate, Vice-Admiral Williams took the wheel, watching the _Mircalla_ hurry towards them. He frowned.

“What’s she doing?” He said to no one in particular. The pirate ship was headed straight for his starboard side. He knew she was close enough for her captain to see his guns primed and ready to fire. He’d not bothered with the larboard guns because there was no way the brig could fit between him and the cliff face to his left, not with the sea still so unpredictable.

He scratched his forehead under the band of his hat, fear pooling in his stomach as the _Mircalla_ continued straight for them.

“She couldn’t possibly… No, she can’t be! Ready the cannon’s on the larboard side you fools!” he screeched, tearing at his perriwig as the _Mircalla_ ’s bow inched sideways, her bowsprit missing his own with scant inches to spare.

Sheslipped smoothly between the frigate and the cliff face, barely a foot of space between her rails and the cold stone but Carmilla held her rock steady. They were close enough to see the shocked faces of the ship’s crew, pale in the moonlight as they stood ready by loaded cannons on the wrong side of the ship. Carmilla waved cheerily at the captain, who stared back open mouthed.

The brig glided behind his stern and out to the open sea, his own ship rocking gently in her wake.

He stamped his foot angrily.

* * *

Admiral Hollis stood at the bridge with Danny, deep frown lines carved into his face as he watched the exchange of gunfire from afar. He could see the burning ships, see the slight shadow of the _Mircalla_ spitting destruction at his fleet.

“How is she doing this?” Danny shouted in his ear as a broadside from the _Mircalla_ sent a frigate up in flames. “Our ships haven’t fired a single shot and she’s sunk two of them like they’re toy boats.”

“Sheer bloody luck and an insane captain with expensive guns. She’s been murdering and pillaging these waters for ten years, there’s so much blood on her hands she’s drowning in it. She fights like a demon, Lawrence. That _pirate_ is not human. Those ships didn’t stand a chance.” Admiral Hollis spat the words out from between clenched teeth and Danny glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

Even in battle the man was usually patient and calm, but at the sight of the _Mircalla_ sinking his fleet like she was shooting sitting ducks sent him into a rage Danny had never seen before. She knew Laura was aboard Karnstein’s ship, and something twisted in her gut when she thought of the sweet girl in the hands of a bloodthirsty pirate. Obviously the Admiral was worried about his daughter, but the way his big hands gripped the rail like he was going to rip it off… Hollis was in danger of losing his head. If he engaged the _Mircalla_ like this he might even lose his life.

“Admiral, I’ve been your right hand for four years. Having Karnstein this close, with Laura aboard her ship… Karnstein has been plaguing you as long as I can remember, you’ve fought more battles than I can count but in all those times you were never like this.”

He looked at her. “Like what, lieutenant?”

Danny took a deep breath. “I’m beginning to mistrust your judgement, sir.”

He stiffened, his frown shadowing his eyes. “I have been hunting pirates since you were squirming in your cradle, Lawrence. I have sunk more ships than you’ve had hot dinners, fought more battles and won them than any other Admiral in the kings’ navy.” He flung his arm out to point at the _Mircalla,_ racing towards the entrance of the bay as two gunboats collided nastily behind her. “Do not presume to tell me I cannot do my job properly just because my _daughter_ is aboard that monster’s ship.”

He shivered, turning away from his lieutenant’s gaze to watch the massacre in front of him. For the first time he felt as if everything was against him in this fight. He could do nothing but pound his fists against the rail as his galleon plowed slowly through the waves.

Dead ahead the clouds broke apart and the full moon shone down on the _Mircalla_ hurrying towards the only ship still in her way. The storm was clearing, and he could do nothing but watch. The headland shielded her from view for a moment, and he wiped a hand across his eyes.

“We have to cut her off,” he said.

“Whatever we try we’ll be too late,” Danny warned.

The Admiral shrugged, watching the moonlight dance on the choppy water as the _Mircalla_ rounded the headland, heading east across the open ocean.

“I won’t give up. I’ll follow that damn pirate to the ends of the earth if I have to.”


	5. Chapter 4

The wind dropped to a light breeze, clearing the deep grey sky of clouds so the sinking moon could paint its pathway over the slow heave of the ocean. Île-à-Vache loomed off the _Mircalla’_ s stern, a dark shadow against the white of studding sails unfurling aboard Hollis’ galleon.

The two ships had tacked unsteadily against a northeasterly for hours, the heavier galleon making unfaltering headway as Carmilla gritted out orders between her teeth, fighting to keep her ship one step ahead of the wind. She knew the little brig could run circles around Hollis, but her crew was storm-tossed and weary, and the _Mircalla_ ’s main topgallant yard hung useless just above the crosstrees. Instead of pushing against the trades she’d ordered the _Mircalla_ about so they could run downwind, flying every scrap of sail she could.

Now that wind was dying and Hollis was less than three miles behind them.

Carmilla wandered the quarter deck alone, watching the stars burn and fade into the rising dawn. Above her head the soft flap of canvas matched the heavy, dreamlike sweep of waves against the hull. Spielsdorf was dozing at the wheel, salt crystals crusting her hair white in the moonlight.

Carmilla nudged her awake.

“Grab some shuteye, Betty. I’ll watch our course.”

Carmilla watched the woman weave her way sleepily between the few sailors needed to quietly tend the sails. At the hatchway she stood aside for LaFontaine to climb up from below, a bucket with a tarred rope handle in their hands. The smell of blood and bone, and muscle cut apart as JP’s screams ripped from his throat, drifted towards Carmilla. Their flight from Admiral Hollis had stunk of spilled alcohol and cauterized flesh; ragged, anguished cries fueling the tail of the storm.

Now, in the quiet, the surgeon leaned their elbows on the taffrail and watched the sea rush smoothly past the _Mircalla_ ’s hull. Carmilla turned her eyes to the horizon as behind her the sky began to turn the colour of morning. She felt the warm sunrise play over the muscles in her shoulders, heard the dull splash as LaFontaine tipped the bucket into the ocean for the sharks.

The thin shadows of the _Mircalla_ ’s masts reached ahead over the water, flickering where they passed over the waves, spindly and black. LaFontaine held the shadow of their hand over their eyes, squinting to make out Carmilla’s silhouette standing calmly at the wheel.

“How’s JP?” the pirate asked.

“Sleeping. He had a rough night.” LaFontaine stood next to her, watching the dead water of their wake swirl white and frothy. “Laura’s with him.”

“And how is Laura?” Carmilla kept her gaze steadily on the horizon.

“Exhausted. Cutting someone’s leg off really takes it out of you.” They yawned, and peered at Carmilla out of the corner of their eye. “Perry says she knows.”

“She suspects,” Carmilla replied, frowning. “There’s a difference.”

“Well she looked seriously freaked out when she came into the cabin. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter what _happened_ ,” Carmilla pushed away the memory of Laura’s exposed throat through gritted teeth. “All she _saw_ was a pirate captain rousing her crew for battle.”

“Are we going to have to tell her? Perr said she hadn’t seen you like that for a long time… Carmilla if she meant not since Morgan-“

Carmilla rounded on the surgeon, her breath hissing out hot between her bared teeth. “ _Never_ say that bitch’s name!”

She had released the wheel as she spoke and the _Mircalla_ suddenly heeled to starboard, her timbers groaning in protest and the cries of surprised sailors shattering the dawn quiet. The spanker thrashed low over their heads, and they both stumbled and crashed to the deck. Carmilla struggled to her feet, the wheel cracking against her palm where she caught it, grunting as she forced her ship back on course.

“What the hell happened?” Perry’s footsteps were loud as she sprinted towards them, her voice shrill.

Carmilla ignored her. “I am a _monster_ , LaFontaine. I do not need to be reminded of that.” Her knuckles were white against the wheel, memories of blood in her mouth and sand in her eyes where tears should have been surging up from the back of her skull. Splinters dug into her palms and she forced herself to relax her grip. “I can’t talk about Havana. Not to someone I barely know. Not to Laura.”

“Well, what _are_ you going to tell her then?” Perry panted. “I just overheard her asking JP if he knew why you were acting so strangely last night.”

“And this morning,” LaFontaine cut in, glaring and rubbing the back of their head where it had hit the deck.

“She might as well have asked why you nearly ripped her throat out.” Perry folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Carmilla, who scowled pointedly in the opposite direction. “LaFontaine is right. You’ve been acting oddly ever since we brought Laura aboard.”

“Maybe I’m just weighed down dealing with the mess you two made kidnapping her,” Carmilla spat.

Perry frowned and Carmilla pursed her lips, scowling at the lightening horizon. The morning was filled with an uneasy silence until Perry said “I think this is something else entirely. You don’t want to tell Laura because being in Port Royal brought back memories you wanted to suppress.” She paused, studying the pirate’s hunched shoulders. “I think this has to do with Ell.”

“Well I think all that’s falling out of your mouth is bullshit,” Carmilla growled. She bit her lip, Ell’s voice echoing through seven years of trying to forget exactly what it sounded like.

* * *

_Mircalla? Mircalla, my god… what have you done? What have you done you MONSTER!?_

* * *

She clenched her fists, her world shrinking to the inside of a dank, grey cell; the helpless cries of pirates waiting their turn to hang drowning out the too-distant sound of the waves.

“Carmilla,” Perry’ voice, lowered to a whisper, cut through the memory. “Laura isn’t Ell.”

Ell had seen her for what she was, had practically fitted Carmilla’s neck for the noose and however convinced Perry sounded, Carmilla couldn’t bring herself to hope that Laura wouldn’t do the same.

“I can’t trust her.”

Even though she’d pressed her hands to a bleeding bullet wound and tried to save a pirate, instead of running back to her father.

“Why not?”

She was inquisitive and kind and naïve, and all the things Carmilla knew the truth would take away from her.

“I barely know the girl.”

“None of us do, Carmilla! But that doesn’t mean we can’t pretend whatever happened last night didn’t happen!”

Last night Laura had taken the shaken pirate into her arms, even with Carmilla’s lips almost pressed to her throat. Laura’s voice had pulled her back from spilling over the edge. Carmilla couldn’t bear to hear that voice call her a monster, couldn’t risk feeling those arms drape the rope around her neck.

The captain straightened her back. “I have no reason to tell the Hollis girl my story.”

“Carmilla-“

“And she has no right to hear it.”

She let go of the wheel and Perry lunged forwards to catch it. “You have the deck, quartermaster. I’ll be in my cabin. Don’t disturb me unless Hollis is about to sink us _._ ”

Carmilla stormed down the steps and slammed the cabin door behind her.

“Which one?” Perry murmured.

* * *

JP fell back asleep before he could tell her anything useful. Laura envied him. Her eyes were sore and itched with tiredness, but every time she closed them all she saw was Carmilla, stalking towards her like an animal with its heavy, predatory gaze fixed on hapless prey.

She curled her hands into fists and paced around the little cabin. Carmilla was a bloodthirsty pirate captain, with a bloodthirsty pirate crew and an entire fleet bearing down on her. And she’d been fighting with Perry, Laura remembered. Maybe she’d been caught in the moment, so riled up she’d seen Laura, covered in blood and thought… what? That she was the enemy?

She had seen fury in the pirate’s eyes, anger at Perry; and she’d been scared, terror bubbling in her throat as her world narrowed to the thundering of her blood in her ears, the stark white of Carmilla’s teeth piercing her own bottom lip. But now she thought about it, the way Carmilla had looked at _her_ … she’d seemed hungry, not angry. Something tugged at Laura’s stomach, at the memory of Carmilla’s gaze on her.

Perry’s words came back to her. _There’s a lot you don’t know, about us and most importantly about her._

Laura frowned.

JP murmured something in his sleep and she sighed, smoothing his hair and rearranging the sweat-soaked pillow beneath his head. Perry said they’d talk, but Perry wasn’t there and Laura needed her questions answered.

She quietly opened the door, and made her way to Carmilla’s cabin.

* * *

Carmilla kicked the door closed so hard it rattled in its frame and sent reverberations through the floor. Her chest felt too tight, dead air weighing too heavily on her lungs. She tore at the buttons of her waistcoat, heaving quick breaths she didn’t need to take. She tried to steady herself against the desk, running her fingers over charts and brass instruments, the map of Ferret Bay she had drawn up when she’d dived down to the wreck of Henry Morgan’s _Oxford_ looking for treasure.

She still felt trapped.

Stumbling over to the little window she fumbled with the latch, a cry of frustration tearing past her lips when it slipped out of her grasp. Behind her the door creaked open. Small hands appeared suddenly in her blurred vision, smoothly unlatching the window and pushing it wide open.

Carmilla took a deep breath, drawing the taste of the ocean to the bottom of her lungs and back, calming in its restlessness. Slowly she sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and letting the movements of her ship through the waves rock her gently.

Laura sat down cross-legged next to her. Neither of them spoke. The cabin was quiet but for the sounds of the waves and her steady breathing.

Carmilla’s hands started to shake, and she curled them into fists, nails biting into her palms. Laura reached out wordlessly, her hands hovering over Carmilla’s until the pirate nodded her assent. She smoothed Carmilla’s fists out like a new roll of blank parchment, rubbing the pads of her thumbs lightly over the angry red crescents dug into the skin. She traced the lines on Carmilla’s palms, the bones of her fingers, the tiny white scar at the base of her right thumb.

“Fishing hook,” Carmilla murmured.

Laura’s fingers moved to the veins in Carmilla’s wrist, sketching shapeless lines and swirls.

“Why are you in here?” the pirate asked as the girl turned her hands over, splayed fingers running soothingly down the thin bones moving under thinner skin.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she replied.

Carmilla stiffened, waiting for their tenuous avoidance of discussing the events of the storm to collapse, but Laura didn’t say anything more. They lapsed into silence. Carmilla felt herself relaxing, her mind clearing under Laura’s calming ministrations.

“I heard you fighting with LaF and Perry,” the girl said, drowning out the familiar creaking of the _Mircalla_ ’s timbers.

Carmilla felt her fingers curling again, and she scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Laura sighed, dropping Carmilla’s hands in her lap.

“Hey, I didn’t tell you to stop doing that,” the pirate pouted.

Laura giggled and despite herself Carmilla felt her lips fight to break into a smile at the sound. “What?” she asked, mock frowning.

“You look so cute, pouting when you don’t get what you want.”

“I am not _cute_. I am the most feared pirate in the Caribbean.” She tried to sound indignant, but that only made Laura laugh harder. She laughed with her whole body, Carmilla noted, and watching her she felt her own small smile lift, and her tense muscles relax. She forgot, just for the moment, that there was anything but the sound of Laura’s laughter hanging between them; that she was anything but human, and that the stirring of her dead heart in her chest should tell her anything but to run from the girl in front of her.

Laura’s giggles slowly subsided, and she shuffled closer to Carmilla, peering up at the pirate with curious eyes.

“What?” Carmilla asked again, smiling down at her.

“There’s something about you…” she whispered, and Carmilla’s smile shattered. She felt suddenly sick, the taste of ruin running under her tongue. Panic kicked at the bottom of her stomach.

“I need to know.”

“Know what?”

“About you. You scared me,” Laura continued, as if she didn’t know or care Ell had spat the exact same words through her tears. “And I can’t ignore what I saw.”

Yes you can, please, you have to.

“What did you see?” Carmilla gasped.

“Nothing I’ve seen before. Things I’ve only heard about in stories. I saw you get shot in the chest, then fight a battle the very next day. I saw bottles full of blood. I’ve seen things I can’t explain and that I can’t stop thinking about. I’ve been thinking about _you_ , all night. All I see when I close my eyes is you, watching me like you were going to, I don’t know, eat me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. That’s the thing. I remember feeling so scared, but I also remember feeling… something else.”

Hatred. That’s what Ell felt. Hatred so abhorrent she’d left the woman she’d promised to love rotting in a cell, declaiming her a monster and turning away.

“I felt fascinated,” Laura whispered, her mind on the storm and Carmilla’s hungry gaze. “You’re fascinating, and you seemed so _inhuman_ that I convinced myself you weren’t. Human, I mean… Even so, I wasn’t as scared, once I’d realised you wouldn’t hurt me.”

_How do you know that?_ Carmilla wondered. She could hear the thundering of Laura’s heart as the girl reached out, tracing her warm fingers over Carmilla’s lips as if feeling for the fangs she’d seen, white in the too-bright flashes of lightning.

“I saw too much.” She said. “Perry knows that. You know that. I’ve a dozen theories and I need an answer. I need to know.”

“No you don’t,” Carmilla breathed. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll hate me. I defy the laws of nature. I’ll change _everything_ you know about the world because monsters are real, Laura, and I’m one of them.”

“No, you’re not,” Laura whispered, her mind still on the storm, Carmilla’s name on her tongue and the pirate _changing_ , her predatory gaze sinking into confusion like she was surfacing from a dream. She’d pulled the pirate into a hug, Carmilla’s chest heaving against her own, skin slick with rain and whispering _I’m sorry_ in her ear.

Carmilla held the girl’s gaze even as the low rumble of panic in her ears turned to a roar, her eyes begging Laura to understand that her world would fall out from beneath her feet if the word _vampire_ fell from her lips.

“I’ve pushed you too hard,” Laura realised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Carmilla waited for her to get up and run, but she didn’t.

“I can wait,” she said, eventually. “For answers.”

“Thank you,” Carmilla murmured. She had no idea how long this would last, Laura allowing her space instead of chasing her curiosity to the truth. But Laura tucked herself closer against the pirate, and Carmilla slowly let herself lean on her shoulder, and as the _Mircalla_ pitched and rolled gently underneath them Carmilla let herself believe that maybe Perry was right. Maybe Laura wasn’t Ell all over again.

“Can I just ask one thing?” Laura asked.

“You’re far too inquisitive for your own good,” the pirate grumbled.

“You said you didn’t trust me, when you were talking to LaF and Perry.”

Carmilla sighed. “I was hurt, once before. Someone found out about me, and hated me. She betrayed me and I almost hung for it. They knew that and they still wanted me to tell you the truth. The same truth I’d trusted her with. I don’t trust you because as much as I think I want to, I can’t.”

Laura huffed, the sound rumbling through Carmilla’s chest. “You know, I have any number of reasons not to trust you, either. You kidnapped me, tried to hold me to ransom and when that didn’t work you carried me away across the ocean. I’ve been through a sea battle; I’ve cut someone’s _leg_ off!”

“You sound oddly excited about that,” Carmilla pointed out.

Laura elbowed her gently. “I’m trying to say that _neither_ of us really has a reason to trust the other. But the last few days have been such an adventure. A dangerous, _exhilarating_ adventure. I’ve seen so many new, amazing things. And I don’t know what you are, but I’ve seen what that girl saw,”

(Carmilla hadn’t the heart to tell her she’d seen nothing of what Ell had)

“So for the record, I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re just Carmilla. The most feared pirate in the Caribbean.” She nudged Carmilla and the pirate smiled.

“You’ve got that right.” She tipped her forehead against Laura’s, breathing in the smell of the sea through the open window. Even if Laura _could_ wait forever for answers, her father was an ever present danger off their stern that Carmilla wasn’t even sure would wait until the end of the day to catch up with them.

She chuckled, suddenly, and Laura turned to look at her. “What?”

“Normally I wait more than three days before revealing all my deepest secrets to a girl.”

Laura smiled. “Has it really only been three days?”

“It feels much longer, somehow.” Carmilla murmured.

Laura yawned. “Probably because we’ve barely slept since we left Port Royal.”

“You can take my bunk, if you’d like.” Carmilla gestured at the unmade bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least it wasn’t the floor.

“But where will you sleep?”

“I probably won’t,” Carmilla admitted. “Your father’s still chasing us. I need to lose him before I can even think of what to do next.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” the girl asked, stifling another yawn.

“Get some rest? Perhaps once we get your father off our backs. We took some damage last night; I need to find somewhere we can put in for repairs.” She sighed, sadness crossing her eyes. “And remember the three souls lost in the battle.”

She clambered to her feet and held a hand out for Laura. The girl took it, rested her own light and warm on Carmilla’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. About those sailors.”

“Death finds pirates quicker than most. They knew that.” Carmilla mimed waving a tankard of rum in the air. “A merry life, and a short one, as they say.” She sighed. “I wish it didn’t have to be like that.”

Laura nodded. Through her bedroom window, death had seemed so far away, the burning beacons of ships nothing more than a smudge on the horizon. Out here beneath the empty sky, it all seemed much closer.

She stepped over to the window, watching the dark shape of her father’s galleon cut through the waves. She wondered if he’d stop chasing Carmilla, once his daughter was returned unharmed. She wished she could believe he would. She thought of the greasy, smoky stain of burning ships on the horizon, the dirty smudge through her bedroom window that might one day denote the end of the _Mircalla_.

She couldn’t let that happen.

“A merry life, and a short one,” she murmured.


	6. Chapter 5

LaFontaine slouched against the rail, gazing out at the line of the _Mircalla’_ s wake, cut through by the prow of Hollis’ ship. It was close enough that they could see stick figures crowding the deck and aloft, tiny and busy as ants. They sighed, roughing their knuckles into the sore knot of muscles at the base of their spine. Perry always told them to stand up straight when they were working, but they never listened; there was really no room for them to stand tall in the low light and the creaking mess of a storm or battle.

“Does your back hurt?” Perry asked, staring straight-backed dead ahead.

“A little,” they grumbled.

“You should-“

“Shouldn’t slouch. I know.” They flattened their wrist against the rail and held a hand palm out over the water. After a while, Perry breathed out a sigh behind them.

“I worry about you.”

“You worry about all of us,” they pointed out.

“It’s my _job_.” Perry stressed. “I represent the crew, I have to be aware of every little thing. And then I have to tell everyone what to do so the captain doesn’t have to.”

LaFontaine turned to face the back of Perry’s head. “So when you tell me not to slouch, you only care as much about my sore back as that of any other member of the crew?”

“That’s not fair. You know I care more about you than anyone else in the world.”

LaFontaine cracked a grin. “I know, Perr. I’m only teasing you.” They strolled up behind the quartermaster and gently wrapped their arms around her. “And I care more about _you_ than anyone else in the world.”

Perry relaxed against them, her grip loosening on the wheel into a light touch, one Betty had taught her the _Mircalla_ responded to best. She murmured something, her words half-caught by the wind.

“Hmm?”

“I said do you ever think about the future?”

“It’s kind of hard to, in this line of work.”

“Piracy or surgery?”

They shrugged. “Both? You have to live every moment in the present, or no one will live to see the future, I guess.”

Perry hummed, guiding the ship smoothly through an oncoming wave. “Do _you_ think about the future?” LaFontaine asked, half-curious and half-knowing Perry wanted them to.

“No.”

They both fell silent, listening to the rush of the sea, the creak of taut cables in time with the gusting breeze; caught between wind and water.

“There’s no reason to. Piracy,” Perry said, twisting her lips thin at the taste of the oh-so-familiar word. “It’s my past, my present. Why shouldn’t it be my future?”

LaFontaine pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck. They knew Perry’s story inside out; they knew just how much she struggled with her life as a pirate, and her natural aversion to the things she did. To the things she knew so well that she could do without thought.

( _I hate it and I love it_ , she had whispered, standing straight-backed at the helm as another merchant East Indiaman surrendered to the flap of their black flag in the wind, and Carmilla led the boarding party with her cutlasses raised and her teeth bared.)

LaFontaine frowned. “Why _should_ it be?”

Perry shrugged unhappily. “It’s all I know,” she repeated. “I could step off the ship at the next port and never look back, but what would I do then?”

“I know what I’d do.” LaFontaine said boldly. It was all fantasy, they knew deep down. But better to let Perry indulge in the idea, even if she’d never voice it herself. “I’d leave, and I’d take you with me.”

“And where would we go?”

This was the first time they’d talked about the future; it had always seemed unattainable, in a world reduced to the rolling deck beneath their feet, barely worth filling the comfortable silences between them as they lay together.

They shrugged. “Anywhere. Somewhere very far away from all of this, you know. Being chased and shot at, cutting people’s legs off in the middle of a storm.” They chuckled. “I’d go somewhere without storms.”

“I don’t think there _are_ places without storms,” Perry mused.

“Maybe not,” LaFontaine acquiesced.

“It’d be nice though, wouldn’t it? Living somewhere without storms.”

“I can picture it now,” LaFontaine swept their hand out in front of them. “Calm waters, sandy beaches. The sky would always be blue. And _no one_ would come pestering me for sea-sickness remedies.”

“And there’d always be a nice, even breeze.” Perry joined in. She smiled fondly. “I know what I’d do. I’d teach you to sail.”

“Really?”

“You say that as if you don’t think I could teach you anything.”

“Not anything to do with boats. I’m a surgeon, not a sailor.”

“It doesn’t matter. You could be fresh off the land and I’d have you swinging from the rigging in a week. I can teach anyone anything,” she boasted. “I even taught Carmilla how to swim.”

Her brow creased at the mention of the pirate captain. LaFontaine wrapped their arms more snuggly about her waist. “You’ve fought before,” they murmured. “This can’t be any worse.”

“Actually, the last time we fought over Ell she punched me in the face and I stole her ship. I didn’t see her for over a year... Do you think maybe I was too hard on her, just now?”

LaFontaine thought it over. “Maybe. I mean, at first I thought she was just being stubborn. You know how she gets. But now I think about it, I don’t think what happened last night was her fault.”

“You think Carmilla going after Laura, that was instinctual? But she learnt to control it!”

“In normal circumstances, yes, she can control herself. But I think you were right, earlier. Being back in Port Royal after so long, with all those memories, it caught her off guard. Then everything just piled up all at once, at the wrong time. Laura just happened to be the one standing in front of her. Laura saw something she shouldn’t have, and all she wants a logical explanation. But Per, the only person who can give her that is Carmilla, and she’s not ready to talk about it.”

“But Hollis is going to catch us! There’s no use denying that, and I can’t have Laura asking questions because it’ll just upset an already panicked crew even more!” Perry took a deep, steadying breath, fixing her gaze forward.

“I get that, I do. You were hard on Carmilla because you know you have to be. Laura’s not going to give up on the truth, no matter what.”

“But Carmilla won’t even _talk_ to her. The wellbeing of the crew is my responsibility, LaFontaine. They’re already scared of the Admiral, I can’t let them run scared from their captain as well.” She shook her head. “This is an ugly mess.”

“No uglier than the others. We’ll figure a way out of it. We always do.”

Perry smiled. She turned back to LaFontaine to press a quick kiss to their lips. “I suppose we do.”

LaFontaine grinned. “Hey, eyes on the waves, quartermaster.”

Perry turned back to the rise and fall of the _Mircalla_ ’s prow across the slow expanse of ocean in front of them. “Do you remember when I promised I’d teach you to steer the _Mircalla_?” she asked after a while.

“Hmm. Yeah. That was a _long_ time ago.”

“It was.” Perry paused, and then turned again to face them. “I could do it now.” A rare, wide smile lit up her face, completely at odds with her usual expression. Despite the hulking galleon on their tail her sudden excitement was infectious, and LaFontaine couldn’t help but match her grin.

“Okay.” Perry wrapped their hands around the wheel.

They could feel the press of the ocean on the rudder, the slight answering tremble of the wheel. Canvas flapped and timbers creaked, the movements of the hip alive beneath their hands. Perry’s hand was warm on their lower back. Suddenly all they could taste was the wind. Beneath the waves, something rushed by the rudder, along the length of the keel.

“Where are we headed?”

“Right now, wherever the wind takes us. The captain will decide on a course once we’ve shaken Hollis.” She swallowed the _if_ , peering back over her shoulder. “Just keep her away from him,” she said quietly.

Betty’s tousled blonde hair appeared from the dark hatchway. She yawned, squinting sleep-crusted eyes against the strong sunlight. Perry took her hand from LaFontaine’s back and waved her over. Reluctantly, they handed control of the ship back to Betty.

“Didn’t the captain send you below to get some rest?” LaFontaine asked.

“Couldn’t sleep properly,” she grumbled. “I managed to drift off, but something didn’t feel right. I woke up when I felt something brush the keel.”

Perry bit her lip. “We’re sailing on blue water. There’s nothing to scrape our keel out here.”

“Nothing stuck to the sea bed, anyway.” Betty muttered.

“I’ll inform the watch,” Perry started towards the prow. “And tell them to keep an eye out.”

“Are you sure she felt something?” LaFontaine whispered to the quartermaster, following her along the length of the ship. They were unwilling to believe they had escaped an entire fleet just the fall back into some unseen danger mere hours later.

Perry looked ruffled. “I don’t know. She did say she was asleep.”

LaFontaine looked guilty. “I think I felt it too, when I was steering the ship. But I thought it was just the water pressure or something.”

They paused by the hatchway. “It could have been anything.” Perry said, too brightly, resting a hand on LaFontaine’s shoulder that wasn’t quite as comforting as it usually was.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’ve sailed with Betty too long to know not to ignore her when she says something’s wrong.” Perry conceded.

“So it could be something bad?”

“If it is, we’ll get through it, okay?” She sounded almost as if she wished to placate herself.

“Okay.” LaFontaine started clambering down the ladder. “I’m going to check on JP. Let me know if I need to pack a bag and abandon ship.” They were half way down the ladder when, with a bump, the _Mircalla_ rocked ever so slightly to starboard.

“What was that?” Perry called, shrilly, to the boy at the rail.

“That,” LaFontaine sighed to themself, “was a definite _nudge_.”

* * *

Laura caught herself on the edge of the table when the _Mircalla_ lurched sideways. Carmilla, used to the movements of her ship, merely swayed with it, but an alarmed look crossed her face.

“That wasn’t normal, was it?” Laura asked nervously.

“No, it was not.” Carmilla strode to her sea chest and slammed it open. She pulled out an ornate bow, gilded with beautiful, whirling patterns. Carmilla strung it with ease, plucking a quiver of arrows fletched with deep red feathers from the chest.

“What was it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then why are you…?”

“Because I’ll be damned if anything else gets to try to kill me again today.” Carmilla paused by the door. She twanged the bowstring harshly, making Laura jump. “Whatever it is, it won’t be bothering us for long.”

* * *

Le Fanu was clinging to the bowsprit, hanging like some tiny figurehead soaked by the rushing water spitting up from below.

“Can you see it?” Perry shouted nervously, twisting her hands together as the boy inched one skinny arm from around the bowsprit to wipe spray from his eyes.

“I don’t see nothin’!” he called back. “Not down there nor on the horizon!”

“Where did it go?” Perry muttered anxiously to herself. She reached forwards to grab Le Fanu around the waist and pull him back before he fell. He scrubbed at his wet face with the backs of his hands whilst Perry absentmindedly ruffled his hair. He squirmed out from under her hand and raced over to the rail.

“I _did_ see it, before.” he groused, shading his eyes and squinting out to sea.

“What’s he lost?” Carmilla growled, appearing suddenly at Perry’s shoulder.

“A sea monster!” the boy crowed, twisting to face the captain. His mouth gaped open at the sight of the gilded bow in her hands. He reached out to brush the red fletching of the arrows, but Carmilla jerked them out of his reach. He pouted.

“No touching until you tell me about the monster.”

“It was huge!” He stretched his arms as wide as he could, standing up on his tiptoes as if that would make them stretch farther. “And _I_ saw it first. Sharpest pair of eyes on board.” He boasted.

Carmilla angled her shoulder so the quiver of arrows was once again within the boy’s reach. “You ain’t going to shoot it, are you?” he asked, poking at the odd, bright feathers.

“Only if it’s real.” Carmilla turned to Perry. “Is he telling the truth?”

Perry plucked a loose thread from her shirt. “There was _something_ in the water. I only caught a glimpse, before it slipped away.”

“It couldn’t have been a whale, or some other creature?”

Perry shook her head. “It was enormous. And it moved like a snake.”

Carmilla stiffened. “Skin or scales.”

“Skin, I think. Sort of slimy. Why?”

“Goddamnit,” Carmilla breathed. The bow fell useless out of her hands.

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you, captain?” Le Fanu gazed up at her with wide eyes. “Is it going to eat us?”

“Clap on as much sail as we can,” Carmilla said shakily. She narrowed her eyes at the shadow of Hollis’ galleon. “If it’s going to eat anything today, it’s not going to be us.”

* * *

Admiral Hollis stood on the quarterdeck with his hands folded behind his back, watching soldiers gathered at the waist readying themselves. Sunlight glinted off drawn, polished steel and musket muzzles. His lieutenant was crouched next to Kirsch, showing him how to fix a bayonet to his gun. She mouthed something to the boy, and he grinned nervously back.

The master was bellowing orders at the midshipmen making slight adjustments to the sails, trying to catch every breath of wind they could. The _Mircalla_ was barely holding her lead. If the wind didn’t drop completely, they’d have her within the hour.

“Come on,” he coaxed his ship under his breath.

A sailor shading his eyes in the crow’s nest shouted something to another hand nearby, pointing out frantically at the stretch of ocean between the galleon and the brig she was chasing. The hand shimmied down the ratlines, his bare feet pattering across the deck as he ran to the mate and whispered in his ear. Hollis narrowed his eyes. The mate bustled to the quarterdeck, his eyes darting nervously and sweat beading his brow.

“What is it?” Hollis growled.

“I’ve had a, ah…” the mate gulped, wiping his brow with a sodden handkerchief. “I’ve had a disturbing report, sir.”

Hollis raised an eyebrow and waited for the man to continue.

“Halloway thinks he’s seen a serpent, sir.”

“A serpent.” He pursed his lips, angrily. The mate continued sweating. Hollis lowered his voice and growled at him. “There are no such things as _serpents_.”

“Yes, sir, but Halloway is adamant-“

“Halloway is an imbecile!” Hollis roared. The mate cowered against the rail. A few hands working nearby stopped curiously to watch. “I will not suffer suspicion or insubordination within my ranks! Bring me the fool who dares believe in sea monsters and fairytales, and I shall see him flo-“

His voice was cut off by a dull thump against the hull.

The soldiers in the waist fell silent. More sailors left their tasks, creeping to the rail, or shading their eyes high in the rigging. The master scurried to the prow, peering down intently into the depths. The hot air was thick with quiet. Even the waves and the shaking canvas seemed muffled.

Silently, Danny appeared at his side. The tops of her ears were sunburnt. She pointed over the larboard rail.

It rolled, lazily, just below the surface. A heavy, greasy tentacle, gunmetal grey as the sea at twilight. It slid deeper, almost out of sight as the galleon drifted past. The mate gaped open-mouthed and barely breathing at the spot where the thing had disappeared. Sailors and soldiers alike stretched the whole length of the ship, waiting, straining to catch a glimpse of whatever lurked off their stern. Hands creaked tight around weapons.

“Where is it?” Hollis breathed.

Then the beast exploded from the water.

* * *

Laura screamed. The monster was horrifying, a writhing, fleshy mass of sea-slick tangles groping through the blue sky. Its gaping maw spread soundlessly black and red, a dark pit mouthing open at the sun. One thick tentacle smacked against the prow of her father’s galleon, the sick sound of splintering wood echoing across the water.

The _Mircalla_ ’s stern rail dug into her belly as she strained to lean out over the water, as if somehow she could reach out and pluck the galleon from the beast that wrapped itself grossly around the screaming wood, as if trying to suck the ship into the very depths of itself. Laura didn’t realise she was screaming Carmilla’s name until the pirate wrapped shaking arms around her waist, dragging her backwards away from the rail, crying in her ear that she was going to _fall,_ as if Laura cared about anything other than the monster scrabbling to tear her father’s ship apart.

“We have to turn around!” she shouted. “We have to help him!” The words burned her throat raw, sharp and loud, and louder because Carmilla had dropped her to the deck and was walking away.

“You’re not listening! Carmilla _please_ we have to turn around!”

Perry was hollering orders and the crew were swearing and yelling, their eyes bulging at the horrible cracking sounds reverberating in Laura’s ears, and maybe Carmilla just couldn’t hear her because _why wasn’t she turning around?_

“Get us _out of here!_ ” Carmilla rasped. Her eyes were bulging white, her pupils round and black. She was terrified, her hands snapped tight around the stern rail as she watched the slimy flesh snapping spars like burnt matchsticks from the ship, unable to tear her eyes away.

* * *

_(Make it stop, mother, please make it stop!_

_The beast answers to no one but itself. That is why we offer a sacrifice, to calm it. The girls for the safety of every ship in these waters. Is that not fair?_

_If we feed the monster these girls, it will stop?_

_Yes_

_I still can’t do it_

_Then everyone aboard that ship dies)_

* * *

Carmilla seemed lost, gazing glassily at the horrifying destruction the monster wreaked. Laura lurched to her feet, crashing against the pirate, her fists weakly beating her chest to bring her back to reality. “Turn around! Carmilla we have to turn around!”

“Laura!” Carmilla came back to herself, and grabbed her wrists tight, holding them still whilst Laura struggled. “Laura stop! It’s no _use_.”

Laura started to cry. Carmilla pulled the girl to her, pressing her face into the crook of her shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see the mess of her father’s ship, floating in the too-blue water like so much sodden, useless firewood.

“Why aren’t we going back?” Laura whispered, her voice tiny and high. “Why aren’t we helping?”

“Because we _can’t_ help, Laura,” the pirate choked out. “No one can help them now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, cliffhanger. And a Kraken. Fear not, though. Admiral Hollis is a stubborn as his daughter.


	7. Chapter 6

“So she just left?”

“Yup.” LaFontaine dipped a rag into the lukewarm water and tossed it lightly to JP. He caught it one-handed, using his other arm to prop himself up. His face was grey and pinched, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollow. He laid the damp cloth against his forehead and sighed.

“That’s a shame. She had much better bedside manners than you.”

LaFontaine snorted and flicked water at him. “Rude.”

“Keep doing that,” he prompted, closing his eyes. “It feels nice.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe it’ll feel nicer if I dump the whole bucket over you.” They raised it threateningly and he waved his free hand in surrender.

“I yield, mighty surgeon, I yield!” He flopped back onto his pillows, grinning. “So what’s the captain going to do about it?”

“Do about what? The bucket of water? Not much, I’d imagine.”

“Not the bucket,” he said. “Laura.”

They shrugged, flopping down on the stool next to him. “What can she do? They haven’t spoken to each other since… you know. And when we got into port Laura just-” they used two fingers to mime walking away.

“Did anyone go after her?”

LaFontaine scratched the back of their head. “No. Perry’s still handing out shares from the last prize, and I don’t think Laura wants to talk to the captain right now.”

“Because Laura blames her for what happened to her father?”

“Carmilla kidnapped her, ergo and with a little bit of reaching, she’s to blame for a terrifying sea monster devouring his ship whole.”

“Didn’t _you_ kidnap her?”

LaFontaine wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah. But she still blames Carmilla.”

JP nodded. “So she walked off the ship. Which means she’s alone and grieving in a strange port.” He pushed himself back up into a sitting position, swinging his one leg back around over the edge of the table that served as his bunk. “I haven’t known the girl very long-“

“None of us have even known her for a week.” LaFontaine pointed out.

“-but I consider myself her friend. She’s taken almost as good a care of me as you have.”

“She held your hand whilst I cut your leg off.”

“Precisely. Which means I’m not going to leave her alone after her father just died, friendless - and probably penniless – without anyone to lean on.” He reached for the crutch the _Mircalla_ ’s carpenter had fashioned for him. “Besides, she promised _I_ could lean on _her_ when I started learning to walk again.”

* * *

The tavern was dark, swirling with pipe smoke and song. In the corner, a fiddler scraped a merry ditty whilst a woman sang, her voice high and wavering. Pirates dandled women on their knees and cradled tankards of ale in their hands, gritting fantastical sea-stories through blackened teeth and mouthfuls of drink.

Laura sat alone, nursing her own tankard, licking froth from the corner of her mouth and trying to keep her head down as the sun sank and the room began to fill up.

An old sailor wobbled out of the haze of smoke, cracking his coin down on the bar.

“Gi’z another.”

The barmaid eyed him coldly, sweeping his coin off the bar top and replacing it with a tankard. “Ta, sweetheart,” he leered at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Watch him,” she warned Laura. “He’ll spin you some tall tale and let his hands wander where they will whilst he’s at it.” Laura just nodded into her drink.

“Aww, c’mon.” The man slurred as the woman walked away. “Come back, I know you like my stories,” he hiccupped, and giggled, spinning on his stool to grin toothlessly at Laura. “How ‘bout you? Do you like my stories?”

“I’ve never heard your stories,” Laura replied. Her head hurt and her eyes itched, and she just wanted to man to go away.

“Well, I’ve got a selection,” he persisted. He waved his tankard at her, sloshing liquid over the rim. “Mermaids. You seem like a mermaid kind of girl.”

Laura twisted on her barstool away from the man. “I’m not interested in sea creatures.”

“You will be once you’ve heard this tale.” When she didn’t reply he carried on. “It all started with a woman. Her name, as I recall, was Lilita Morgan. I met her when I was just a boy. Fresh off my first voyage, and wanting nothin’ more than a drink an’ a little company, you know what I mean?” He took a swig of his drink and winked. “Anyway, I was stumbling down some alley, three sheets to the wind I was, when out she pops from the shadows-”

“Oi, shut it!” A peanut whizzed past Laura’s ear and hit the man on the chin. “No one wants to hear about your bloody witch and her pet again!”

The drunken sailor pointed exaggeratedly at Laura, who attempted to sink deeper into her drink. “ _She_ wants to! I’m tellin’ it to her, not you.” He settled back into his seat. “Now, where was I? Oh yeah. She walks out of the shadows, tall as a tree and graceful, like a cat. She was beautiful, and her smile in the moonlight…” he sighed happily to himself. “I thought I was in love. I walked up to her, thinkin’ I could buy her a drink, maybe get myself a little something extra.” He snickered.

“Is this going anywhere?” Laura asked morosely.

He sniffed, affronted. “I’ll get to the point then, shall I? She smiles at me, and beckons. ‘Course I follow her, down the alley and towards the docks. I only realised the strangeness of it all when we passed my ship, carried on right to the quiet end of the docks where a little rowboat sat waiting for us.”

Laura rubbed at her temples, wondering if she hurried the old man’s story along he’d leave her alone quicker. “And did you get in?”

The old sailor nodded. “We rowed out to sea, kept going until the moon was setting then she stopped.” He ran his fingers over the grey bristles on his top lip, voice lowering so suddenly Laura lost his next words under a raucous laugh from the next table over. She leaned forwards. “I felt something bump against our vessel.”

Laura bit her lip. The old man’s tale had abruptly become all too uncomfortably familiar.

“Something came out of the water.” He continued “Like it’d been summoned. Thought it was a whale, at first, or some giant sea snake. Then she, Morgan, grabs me by the scruff of my neck, hauls me out over the side like I’m somethin’ to be inspected and I saw…”

Laura’s stomach clenched. “A monster.”

He nodded again. “Like nothin’ I’ve ever seen nor wish to see again.” He paused, gazing off into the distance as if reliving the moment. Laura held her breath, losing it all in a gasp as he slapped his hand down sharply with a cackle. “Well, what’d you think of that grand tale?”

Laura pushed her drink away. “I think I’ve heard something like it before. How did you get away?”

The man frowned, glaring at a large, one-eyed pirate across the bar. “Heard it before? Has _someone_ been stealing my story again?”

Laura waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Never mind where I heard it, how are you sitting here? How did you get away?” she repeated.

“She let me go,” the old man turned reluctantly back to Laura. “Beast must’a thought I wasn’t worth eating, so we rowed back to port. I tried to ask her what it was, the monster, but she wouldn’t answer me.”

Laura sank back onto her seat, disappointed. “So you’re saying you don’t know what it is, or where it comes from?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “What’s your interest, anyway?”

“Um, purely educational?” she blurted. He narrowed his eyes at the lie, but seemed to believe her. Either that or he didn’t really care. Laura thought he was probably just glad someone was listening to him at all.

“No, I know nothing more than what happened to me.”

Laura turned back to her drink, despondent. “I don’t suppose anyone else has seen it?”

“You hear things,” the man mused. “Ships destroyed sailing calm waters and clear skies, lassies going missing, although that’s nothing new in these parts. But what does it matter?” he shot another look at the one-eyed pirate. “No one’s willing to talk about it…”

“Except you?”

The old man winked and patted her shoulder. “Aye, except me. And everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

Laura clambered off her stool, and kicked her toes more firmly into the ends of her sea boots so they wouldn’t slip. The sailor wobbled a bit, holding himself up on the table as he waved for another drink. Laura sighed, feeling almost sorry for him, passing off his experiences as stories as if he didn’t even believe them himself any more. She decided to toss him a bone.

“I’ve seen it.” she whispered. The old man’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“The monster, I’ve seen it. You’re not alo-”

He waved her away, standing up to yell “She’s seen it!” and drawing every eye in the room. One by one, the patrons of the bar fell silent, the eerie quiet settling uncomfortably on Laura’s shoulders. “Seen what?” a nervous boy in the corner piped up.

“My monster,” the sailor whispered, reverentially.

The boy gazed at her, questioningly, and Laura gritted her teeth, sorely regretting giving the old man anything but the time of day. She wished she could take it back but she couldn’t, not with every eye on her. There was only one thing for it. She nodded.

Scattered mutterings broke out through the room, people whispering to each other and ogling Laura and her companion. Finally, the pirate with the grisly scar crinkling the edges of his empty left eye socket stood and scoffed. “She’s humoring you, old man.”

He didn’t sound convinced, but his words broke the sudden chill that had filled the room and the seamen around him broke out into raucous laughter, shattering the spell of Laura’s confession. The room buzzed with conversation again, the band in the corner struck up another lively tune. Slowly, the atmosphere in the bar returned to normal, but Laura continued to watch the pirate with one eye. He knew something, she was certain. Maybe the sailor next to her was right, maybe he wasn’t the only man amongst them to have seen something strange in the water.

* * *

“This is harder than I thought,” LaFontaine said as they tripped over another sailor curled up in the middle of the street, clutching an empty bottle.

JP grumbled in agreement. “I’d forgotten quite how many taverns can be crammed into one little town.” He shouldered his way into another dingy building, squinting through the smoke. “No, she’s not here. Maybe we should give up. She might come back to the ship on her own.”

“And if she doesn’t?” LaFontaine gazed down the gently sloping street, to where the _Mircalla_ floated on the black water. JP heaved a sigh. “Alright then.” He dug a small coin from his pocket, pointing at the two nearest taverns squatting at the end of the street. “Heads we go to that one, tails, the other one.”

He tossed the coin high in the air. The metal glinted satisfyingly in the moonlight. It clattered loudly to the uneven cobblestones paving the road. LaFontaine picked it up. “The other one.”

Together they wandered off up the street, leaving the sailor LaF had almost tripped over to his sleepy musings about the relative merits of just using a coin to buy a drink instead of tossing it.

* * *

“For the last time, I don’t know anything!” the one-eyed pirate roared. Laura skipped backwards, dodging the spray of ale that spilled from his cup when he thumped his fist on the table.

“Yes you do!” she yelled back. “And you’re going to tell me or I’ll-“

“Or you’ll what?” the pirate sneered, resting his hand on the hilt of his cutlass. Laura gulped.

“Or she’ll wish you a very good evening and leave _right now_.” LaFontaine appeared at Laura’s elbow, tugging the girl towards the door whilst JP smiled and waved at the irate pirate and his crew. “Come on!” LaF called. JP doffed an imaginary cap at the pirates, balked at the sound of suddenly drawn steel, and ducked out of the door behind them.

“Perhaps we should withdraw to a… ah, safer location?” he said.

“Agreed.” LaFontaine began to walk back the _Mircalla_ , but Laura stopped stubbornly in her tracks.

“I’m not going until I question that man.”

“I think he was finished talking,” JP said.

“Well I wasn’t,” she said stubbornly. “He knows something about the monster that wrecked my father’s ship, and I want to know what.”

“Why?” LaFontaine asked. “Even if you find out, what are you going to do?”

Laura folded her arms tightly, turning her head to the side. “Go after it,” she muttered.

LaFontaine cocked their head. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. It sounded like you said ‘go after the terrifying sea monster that tears apart ships like kindling’.”

“Not in so many words, but-”

LaF sighed, moving to stand next to Laura. “I know you miss your father, but there’s nothing you can do.”

“But what if there is?”

“Like what? Even if you found it, I don’t see a fully armed warship lying around waiting to take you fishing.”

“I don’t need one,” Laura insisted. “Someone controls it.”

LaFontaine looked interested. “Really? How?”

“I don’t know,” Laura said, latching onto their curiosity. “But I have a name.”

“Well that’s something,” they said excitedly. “You could go down to the harbour master, see if anyone captaining a ship that put in here went by that name-“

JP coughed loudly, cutting them off. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s getting late,” he said, eyeing Laura pointedly. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation back at the _Mircalla_?”

Laura lost her smile. “Is the captain still aboard?” she asked stiffly.

“She was when we left.”

“Then I’ll find somewhere else to stay tonight.” Laura made to turn leave, but JP gently caught her arm. “Laura, I understand you’re grieving but please, think.”

“About what?” she griped.

“You have no money,” he pointed out. “And you’ve never been here before.”

“It’s not safe, Laur,” LaFontaine chimed in.

Laura softened. “I can’t just forget that my father would still be alive if she hadn’t taken me,” she said sadly.

“We’re not asking you to,” LaF assured her. “If you want to leave tomorrow, we’ll help you with what you need, find a ship bound for Port Royal so you can go home. But not tonight.”

Laura sniffed, leaning against LaF’s shoulder with watery eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll go back. Thank you.” She chuckled when JP patted the top of her head awkwardly. “If nothing else good happens on this crazy voyage, I’m still really glad I met you two.”

“As are we,” JP said sincerely, and the three headed down the cobbled street towards the _Mircalla_.

* * *

The morning dawned foggy and silent. A thick, yellow sea mist draped itself from the _Mircalla’s_ rigging, leaving her timbers damp and heavy. She bobbed lazily on the oily swell, the burnt stub of a candle in the stern lantern still smoldering, burning a small hole in the fog. Carmilla slunk tiredly from her cabin, stretching as she padded silently to the stern rail.

Le Fanu was asleep, curled up and snoring in a coil of rope. He was wrapped in the short, red monkey jacket stolen from the navy sloop he’d run away to sea on, the soft material beaded with dew. Carmilla leaned against the rail, stamping her foot down loudly to wake the boy up.

“Was’n ‘sleep,” he burbled, scrambling upright and saluting. Carmilla waited for him to straighten his coat before asking “Anything to report?”

Le Fanu yawned hugely, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “’S’foggy, couldn’t see anything.”

“I always sleep soundly knowing you’re on watch,” Carmilla snarked, nudging the boy in the direction of the ladder. “Go and rest, I need you ready to help make the yards seaworthy once this fog clears.”

“Aye aye, captain.” The boy saluted again, pattering off below decks. Carmilla returned to gazing unseeingly into the wall of sea fog. Her gut roiled uncomfortably. The admiral was dead, Laura was gone, and clearly maman had forgotten to feed her pet again. Every roll of the deck beneath her feet felt like a tentacle testing the keel, and she chided herself for being paranoid. The harbour was too shallow for the beast’s bulk to fit.

The sound of movement amidships turned her head. Perry clambered easily up on deck, grimacing at the damp feeling the heavy fog left in the air. She spotted Carmilla and raised a hand, strolling towards the captain.

“Laura came back,” she said when she reached her.

“Did she?” Carmilla replied uncaringly.

“I don’t think she’ll stay. LaFontaine said something about finding her a ship bound for Port Royal.” Carmilla stayed silent, careful not to betray any emotion at the thought of the girl leaving. It irritated her that Laura, essentially a captive she not only barely knew, but who actively hated her, had had such an effect on her. She told the little voice at the back of her head that reminded her of Ell to shut up.

Carmilla pushed off the stern rail, making her way fore. “Just make sure the doctor is ready to leave once that topgallant yard is fixed.”

* * *

“Nassau,” Laura said, testing the name on her tongue. She’d heard it before, many times, always spat off the edge of her father’s lips like a foul taste in his mouth. “It’s a start.”

The harbour master peered at her over the tops of his glasses. “You aren’t planning on going alone are you, missy? Nassau is not the kind of place civilized young lady’s visit.”

“I’m not alone,” Laura lied. He didn’t need to know she’d already given LaF the slip. “But I am looking for passage.”

The harbour master ran a finger down the pages of his book, covered in neat, black scribbles. “Not many willingly sail to Nassau, but I have a ship bound there leaving today. The _Parisian_. Captain’s name is Belmonde.”

Laura beamed. “That’ll do nicely.”

“If I may, miss,” the man raised a finger. He looked troubled. “Nassau is a den of thieves, and pirates. It’s not safe. I do hope you have a good reason for going, it pains me to see a respectable young woman headed for such a place.”

“I have a very good reason,” Laura gritted. The man looked taken aback. “A-and that is?”

She smiled grimly. “To find the thing that killed my father.”

* * *

The fog swirled thickly around the little town, twisting the familiar sounds of the dock. Men shouted over the water to each other, voices and clanging hammers muffled. Longshoremen trundled carts of wood and supplies up and down the _Mircalla’_ s gangway, swearing at the small children and dogs scampering under their feet. Nobody noticed the tattered jollyboat sliding though the dark water at the _Mircalla_ ’s stern.

A heavyset man in an officer’s uniform leapt up onto the dock, his lieutenant climbing up lithely after him, red hair queued tightly down her back. The man strode furiously towards the bulk of the _Mircalla_ , sword drawn. A ragged bunch of soldiers trailed after him, hollow eyed and heavy stepped.

“KARNSTEIN!” the man hollered, shoving past a crewman and upturning his cart. He raced up the gangway, eyes blazing. Carmilla looked up from her work, startled, and the admiral pressed his sword against her neck, backing her into the rail. The fog echoed with the sounds of the _Mircalla’_ s crew drawing steel.

The admiral ignored it. “Where. Is. My. Daughter.”

“Not here,” Carmilla gritted, throat bobbing against the steel at her neck.

“ _I don’t believe you_.”

“It’s true!” Perry interjected. “She left this morning.”

Hollis swung around to face her, leaving Carmilla pressed against the rail rubbing her throat. “Where did she go?”

“To see the harbour master about a ship bound for Port Royal.”

Hollis sheathed his sword, hurrying back down the gangway. Danny stayed aboard the _Mircalla_. “You’re sure?” she asked Perry. “If I find you’re hiding her here…”

Perry glared at her. “She thinks her father’s dead. She thinks _everyone_ she knew is dead. All she wants now is to go home.”

Danny’s gaze softened. From the rail Carmilla spoke up, her voice raspy. “Speaking of everyone being dead, how come you’re not?”

Danny shrugged. “A miracle? The monster trashed our ship, but left everyone who went overboard alive. It didn’t want to kill us,” she frowned. “It was just toying with us.”

Carmilla’s eyes darkened. “That doesn’t sound like it…”

“What do you-“

“Karnstein!” Hollis hurried back aboard, the harbour master’s thick book in his hands. “I’m requisitioning this ship in the name of his majesty the king. Lieutenant?”

“Sir.”

“Hey!” Carmilla yelled, squaring up to the admiral. “You can’t take my ship, no on your own, not in anyone’s name!”

Hollis glared down at her. “At this moment my daughter is sailing aboard a pirate ship bound for that foul hell hole your kind calls home.”

“Nassau?” Carmilla asked, surprised. “What’s she going there for?”

“To avenge my death apparently,” Hollis snapped, dropping the book to the deck with a loud bang. Carmilla blanched. “And I can’t reach her to stop her in a jollyboat, so are you going to hand over your ship or do I have to take it from you?”

“Neither,” Carmilla spat. “I’m coming with you. I won’t let the little fool get herself killed for _you_.”

“Absolutely not!” Hollis argued.

Carmilla shrugged. “Then you can stay here.”

“I outrank you, Karnstein!”

“Ranks don’t matter to pirates,” Carmilla grinned. Hollis frowned. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

The two stood in silence, glaring at each other until LaFontaine piped up. “Perhaps we should get underway,” they suggested. “And sort all this out later? _Before_ Laura gets herself killed?”

Carmilla pulled a face. Hollis cracked his knuckles. “ _Fine_ ,” they grumbled in unison. They both straightened, and started yelling orders. Hollis’s soldiers and Carmilla’s crew milled around in confusion, until Perry shoved her way between the captain and the admiral. “You two, stow it. The rest of you, you take your orders from me until those two figure out who’s in charge.”

The crew set to, and soon the anchor chains were rattling, the soft flap of sails filling the air as Hollis and Carmilla slouched against the stern rail, pouting. “You have a nice ship,” Hollis conceded grudgingly.

“Yours was nice too,” Carmilla muttered in reply.

“Just remember, I will still hunt you to the end of my days once this is over.”

“Will I at least get a head start?”

Hollis watched Danny talking to the _Mircalla_ ’s helmsman, the ships boy leading his exhausted soldiers below decks for some sleep. “Maybe a little one.”


End file.
